Provocateur
by swaggercaptain
Summary: Criminal Minds AU - Emma and Killian are partners in a BAU unit, but behind the innuendos and good-natured quips lays a dangerous game of cloak and dagger. When all is said and done and the perpetrator is put away, how deep does their partnership go? (Violent themes throughout)
1. Chapter 1

**This is a criminal minds themed AU, so there are some violent themes - you have been warned. Thanks to nicolelovesdisney for beta-ing!**

_**Provocateur **_

It is a common mistake of the general populace to assume that all antagonists are easily identifiable; loners and rejects who harbour ill-will and take it out on their peers as such. Despite the constant warnings and endless list of true stories, people never seem to absorb the irrefutable fact that appearances are deceiving. In this society, a charming smile and charisma are more dangerous than a blade because, at least with a weapon, the threat is plainly obvious.

Oftentimes, the most dangerous creatures are the most beautiful – this, Emma Swan knew for a fact. Through years of observation and an uncomfortable amount of first-hand experience, Emma had become a master of outsourcing these monsters. Such was her purpose as she sat at the brightly-lit bar, habitually scanning the restaurant for the disguised threat. Though she knew what to look for, the people clogging the restaurant were ludicrously oblivious to the threat somewhere amongst them. Their flamboyant laughter combined with the clinking of wine glasses drowning out any realistic approach to reconnaissance.

Consequently, rather than surging into the elegant restaurant with weapons at the ready, a more covert tactic was required and Emma had been swiftly dispatched – albeit begrudgingly. She looked natural, a beautiful girl in a classy location – no one would look twice. To all those uninvolved, Emma might be mistaken for a woman searching for a prospective date. She smirked as she turned the thought over in her head, taking a sip from the fluted wine glass that likely cost an arm and a leg. It didn't matter much though, it wasn't like she was paying for it – though she expected David would lose his top when the bill arrived. The Unit Chief of their team had an unhealthy obsession with their budget despite the well-known fact that their particular team scarcely utilized the extensive monetary funds available to them.

Nevertheless, she might as well enjoy this slight work-perk since it was doubtful she would ever return to the swingy restaurant – at least, not on her salary. Just because the team was given almost unlimited resources, it didn't mean their salaries were affected. Bloody bureaucrats.

"_Damn_," a male voice groaned from Emma's left, "would you like to meet my one-eyed snake?"

You would think, considering the sophistication associated with such an establishment, that the number of crude assholes might be diminished at least marginally. Not so much apparently. Emma didn't turn to face him, instead keeping her eyes focused on the glass in her hand. She knew this wasn't the man she was looking for – he wouldn't be so outright crass. The un-sub she was still scanning the crowd for was suave and most definitely not the dipshit attempting to pick her up.

"About as much as you want my fist to meet your face," she retorted, taking a sip of the expensive alcohol.

Emma's earpiece crackled with laughter and she could only imagine the face of the person on the other end of the communication device. He was probably – no, definitely – enjoying watching this and she tried not to crush the glass in her grip as the man sitting beside her scoffed, appearing more so amused than offended.

"Come on sweetie, no need to be like that. Let me buy you a drink," he said, signaling for the bartender. Emma could still hear the sound of laughter in her right ear as she turned to finally face the man. Her eyes scanned over him in what he obviously interpreted as interest. His mouth spread in a grin, displaying a set of perfectly straight and (obviously) chemically whitened teeth.

She smiled back sweetly and, without missing a beat, said, "I'm going to give you about five seconds, after I'm finished talking, to leave. Firstly, because I don't want to create a scene and secondly, because I don't think you're worth my time. You're obviously here to get away from reality, and I'm assuming your wife and kids don't know. I also know this isn't the first place you've been to tonight, and if you haven't gotten lucky yet – chances are you won't be getting lucky at all. So, unless you want me to break your nose, I suggest you go home and apologize to your wife for spending what little money you have on a place like this which is completely out of your depth. Understood?"

His leer instantaneously vanished as he observed Emma with shocked apprehension. His mouth formed a small 'o' as he tried to respond. Clearly he was stunned by her startlingly accurate observations, as most people were. Fortunately, deduction was a nearly extinct skill and one that Emma occasionally excelled in.

The idiot had a tan line on his ring finger and a baby-food stain on the corner of his white business shirt. Additionally, there was a nearly indiscernible stamp on his hand from where he had been to another club that night and tried, unsuccessfully, to wash it off. His suit was rumpled around the collar and knees – where high-end designers paid the most attention - and the cuff links he so proudly flaunted were cheap knock-offs. Combined, the man still speechless beside Emma might as well have vocalised a brief outline of his life.

She turned back to the bar and waited for him to make a decision – there were always two options for his type of person. He would either sulk away into the recesses of the bar, ignoring her suggestion but leaving her alone nonetheless. Or, and this was the option that most men took and would be most problematic for Emma's current situation, his ego would override any cognitive function and prompt him to make a violent scene. She took another sip of wine as he contemplated his options.

Surprisingly, the man stood up from his seat and walked away, although she could swear he muttered one insult or another before leaving. Sighing in relief, Emma continued to scan the complex and slumped in her chair when she came up empty again. There were a lot of men in the restaurant but none matched the very precise description she'd been given.

"You can't blame him, love," an accented voice commented through the earpiece cleverly disguised under her blonde curls.

"Say another word, Jones – I dare you," Emma muttered under her breath, for it would not do well for people to think she was talking to herself.

"You know you love the attention," he taunted and she rolled her eyes.

"You'll regret saying that in the gym tomorrow," she warned, instantly keen for the next morning when they had their weekly hand-to-hand combat training.

He chuckled in response, "Oh, I look forward to it."

Emma opened her mouth to respond when another man saddled up to her, sitting in the stool on her right. She readied herself for another uncouth attempt to get laid, idly swirling the glass of bubbly liquid in front of her. However, as Emma turned to face him, the voice in her ear spoke stern and clear.

"That's him," Jones said, all previous mirth gone.

Emma quickly processed this, and her previous deadpan expression promptly brightened to reveal a well-rehearsed open smile. He turned to her, apparently noticing her for the first time – but that was a lie, he'd seen her when he entered the restaurant. She was _exactly_ his type; blonde, leggy and ostensibly vulnerable. It had been designed that way.

"Hi," he said, extending a hand to Emma and smiling.

She returned the gesture, "Hi."

He was attractive, exceptionally so – which was one of the foremost reasons he had escaped the law as long as he had. It was also what enabled him to do what he did, because no reasonable hot-blooded woman would reject this man. With chocolate brown eyes framed by long dark lashes and a jaw-line that could cut glass, Chuck Giles was easily the most dangerous creature in the room and Emma knew it. Unfortunately for him, he had just happened upon the second-most dangerous creature in the room without even realizing it. And it was obvious that he had no idea what sort of a person laid beneath the tight red dress as he subtly scrutinized her, because if he did than the smirk that played around his lips would not have existed.

"What's your name?" he asked, absentmindedly signaling the barkeep. He ordered a glass of gin and Emma bit her lip with practiced hesitancy. His drink was promptly served and he took a sip, finally noticing her hesitance and frowning uncertainly at her. He quickly smiled and held up a hand in apology.

"Sorry, I get it – with all the murders recently, I get it. You can't be too cautious," he said, bowing his head in understanding. _Typical empathetic approach to try to encourage a woman to open up_ a voice in the back of Emma's mind scolded, _how have you gotten away from us for this long?_ And it truly was a wonder, but what Chuck Giles lacked in his ability to maintain a façade, he made up for in his ability to wipe a body clean of evidence.

Emma shook her head and smiled, "No, no, I doubt someone like you is _that_ sick twisted bastard… the name's Ella. And you?" She lied effortlessly, almost instinctively. He smiled and there was an imperceptible severity to his expression, like the sharp side of a blade being exposed under harsh light. _Honey, your narcissism's showing_ Emma wanted to coo as he studied her carefully. He recovered quickly, chuckling and taking a long swig of the gin in his hand.

"Thanks," he said sarcastically, looking around the restaurant and turning back to Emma, "My name's Chuck." He stared at her appreciatively and it was obvious that the desired effect was flattery. Internally scoffing, the blonde forced herself to outwardly blush – a skill she'd developed in her first year at the Bureau.

"It's nice to meet you," she replied, chewing on her bottom lip.

He raised his glass to her, "And you. So, _Ella_, what do you do for a living?"

Emma swallowed the last of her wine and set the glass down in front of her gently, "I'm an accountant for Stellar Industries. What about you?"

An accountant might seem like an odd choice – especially since Emma despised mathematics – but it was actually incredibly handy because it was one of the most monotonous jobs someone could have. As a result, the questions likely to be asked about it were sparse. She was yet to come across a person who heard that answer and responded with, _"Gee, that must be fun. What does that entail?"_

"I'm a Global Services Manager, it sounds interesting but it's really not," he chuckled, clearly pleased by his display of self-deprecating humour. Emma smiled back with faux admiration despite the lie-detector in her head shrilling furiously.

_Lie_. He was a sheet-metal worker who had been rejected for promotion six times; which was part of the catalyst for his homicidal behaviour. Paired with the rejection of his blonde ex-fiancé, Chuck's murderous tendencies had reared their ugly heads. If it weren't for the fact that he was killing innocent women, Emma might have felt some sympathy for him. But she didn't.

Emma stood up off the stool and picked up her purse.

"Well, _Chuck, _this place is boring, what do you say we go somewhere else?" Emma asked, nodding to the door and smiling suggestively at him. Chuck smirked, paying for his drink and standing up as well. His hand touched on her lower back as they walked towards the door, and she could swear she heard a growl from her earpiece. It was probably just her partner's reaction to the fact that the same hands this man was caressing her spine with had also been used to choke the life from three innocent women.

"We're right behind you," Jones reassured, and Emma could feel his eyes on her back as they exited the restaurant. He would have been following them, careful not to raise suspicion by occasionally intermingling with the people in the restaurant. When they reached the street, Chuck turned to her with a firm grip on her elbow. He rubbed circles on her skin with his thumb, an obvious attempt to soothe her though it only made a shiver crawl up her spine.

"I know a place, we'll take my car," he said assertively. Emma smiled and nodded, feigning excitement as she followed him to the sleek silver vehicle. She honestly couldn't fathom how previous women had blindly trailed after him; she was only doing it because she had a small firearm strapped to her thigh and a back-up team following their every move. Was an attractive appearance and magnetic personality really all a man needed nowadays to lure a woman to her death? Apparently, and most disturbingly, the answer was yes otherwise there wouldn't be three bodies sitting in a morgue downtown.

It was a disconcerting thought, and one Emma mused as she watched Chuck open the car door for her. He smiled endearingly, motioning for her to get in with an elegant sweep of his arm. She mirrored his expression, stepping into the car effortlessly despite the pinpoint stiletto's she was wearing. Emma tapped her right ear absentmindedly to check the earpiece was still in place and, once satisfied that it was secure, turned to the side to face Chuck as he too stepped into the car.

He grinned at her, and though it was intended to be alluring, all Emma could think of was a predator observing its prey. With one final glance at her, he put the car into gear and pulled out onto the damp road. The street lights cast the occasional golden glow over his expression, and it was as though with each illumination, his features became increasingly harsh. Unable to stand the slow-motion picture occurring beside her, she looked out the window, watching as the number of people on the streets slowly dissipated and the number of respectable establishments diminished. It wasn't long before they were in the decrepit part of town reserved for prostitutes and drug dealers. She took it as her cue to turn to the ghoulish man in the driver's seat.

With a slightly anxious glance to the window, Emma spoke, "Where's this place you were talking about?" she asked with a nervous laugh. Chuck grinned, and this time there was no charming façade as he stared at the road ahead of him. It was the leer of a hunter who'd trapped his game. He glanced once at the apparently fearful woman beside him, satisfaction resonating from his every movement; the fool clearly had no idea just what kind of trout he'd just hooked.

"We'll be there soon – trust me," he cooed, and Emma sat back in the seat.

"As soon as he lets you out of the car, disengage. We'll check the location for any other women once he's taken down, though I doubt he'd be taking you back if there was one." Killian spoke firmly though there was no concern in his voice; he knew her too well to be worried about her welfare, especially in a routine take-down. Emma looked at Chuck out of her peripheral vision, sizing him up and identifying the best approach to his incapacitation. He was strong and cocky, a flaw she could exploit to her advantage. His victims thus far had displayed signs of pure brutality and judging by the way they were handled, he wasn't a skilled fighter. So, he obviously relied on his brawn to subdue his victims.

Satisfied that she knew what she would do, Emma let her thoughts wander, though she kept a keen eye on her surroundings. Ruby would probably have another case for them to start on in the morning; there was no shortage of sadistic killers in America which, sadly, was what her team's continued employment relied on. Hopefully, it wouldn't require travel – they had been lucky that this case was in their home state, Virginia.

She was drawn from her thoughts when the car pulled into a dimly lit garage and stopped. Effortlessly slipping back into the façade of helpless victim, she turned to the man in the driver's seat, concealing her true emotions with ones he would expect – apprehension. He was clearly pleased by her reaction to their surroundings, and what had once been attractive about him in the aristocratic restaurant completely vanished in the shadow of his true temperament. Like a snake shedding its skin, he rolled his neck and looked at Emma with a chilling leer.

The blonde opened the door with forced desperation, tearing out of the vehicle without her heels and preparing for his inevitable approach as she ran for the entrance. He laughed darkly as he ran around the car and approached her from behind. Idiot.

With a meter separating them, she stopped abruptly, a smirk on her face – though he couldn't see it. As expected, he ran into her and attempted to wrap his arms around her shoulders. However, the moment his body touched hers, she thrust her elbow back and into his abdomen. He grunted in pain though it didn't stop him from trying to restrain her.

Emma swiftly pulled one of his arms forward, twisting his hand and ripping the nerve so his other arm slackened its grip and he roared in pain. Maneuvering herself around to face him, she landed a kick to his chest that sent him to the ground. The man looked up at her, a vicious glint in his eye as he pulled a pocket-knife from his back pocket.

"You'll regret that, Ella," he growled, pulling himself up against the side of the car with obvious effort.

The second he was standing upright, Chuck lunged forward with the knife. Emma instinctively avoided the attack, leaning over so the arm wielding the blade sliced through the air on her right. Before he could bring it back around again or stab her in the back, she grasped his forearm and wrist with each hand and twisted. The clatter of metal on the concrete ground signaled that he'd dropped the knife and Emma smiled at him.

"I lied. My name's not Ella."

He growled and attempted to land a blow to her side which she deflected easily with her forearm. Using the motion her arm had already created, Emma thrust her fist upwards and into Chuck's jaw; a satisfactory cracking sound reverberating through the air in the wake of her uppercut. He stumbled backwards though both arms were raised in a crude defensive position.

When he found the strength to stop faltering, he lunged – falsely believing his physique might compensate for his lack of equilibrium. It was effortless, really, as Emma stepped to the side and lifted up her knee, pushing his back down when he was in the correct position. He grunted at the impact and coughed, holding his stomach as he fell to the cold concrete floor of the garage. The man sputtered for breath, rolling around like an insect as he awaited her next move.

"It's Emma," she said.

Emma leaned down to pull out her gun, unsheathing it from the strap at her thigh and aiming it at him as she heard the squad cars pull up outside. It was only a moment before the agents spilled in with their own weapons at the ready. David was at the forefront and the first to make his way to Chuck. He glared down at the man, tucking away his gun and pulling out a set of handcuffs. David glanced haphazardly at Emma, his hard blue eyes silently questioning her welfare. When she nodded a response and dropped her weapon, he turned back to Chuck and shoved him onto his stomach to apply the cuffs.

The other agents quickly moved out into the other areas of the garage, turning on lights to illuminate the workshop of the 'Human Garrotte' as the media had so eloquently dubbed him. It was a large dirty building, the floor covered in black and brown patches and the corrugated iron walls displayed signs of rust. However, at the back of the room there was a table; its bright silver luster contrasted starkly with the oil-stained surroundings, as did the silver chains attached to each of the legs.

Emma's jaw clicked as she ground her teeth, turning to look at Chuck Giles as David lifted him up roughly and he was led past her and into one of the many police vehicles out on the street. She shook her head and sighed, putting the gun back in the holster strapped to her thigh. She walked to the still-open door of the guy's car and picked up her heels. Once she had pulled them on, Emma patted down her dress and turned around to accompany David.

As she did, she nearly ran into someone. Lifting her eyes, Emma's expression deadpanned.

"I say Swan, you look even better up close."

Killian Jones' ice blue eyes glinted with amusement despite the gravity of their former situation and he made a point of letting his eyes rake slowly over her form. He was still dressed in what he'd worn to the restaurant; a white dress shirt, dark grey suit pants and jacket. Though, the formality of the place evidently hadn't affected his inability to shave off the dark stubble that was a permanent (albeit attractive) fixture on his face.

Emma rolled her eyes since any other reaction would only fuel his enjoyment. She'd known the man in front of her long enough to know that he would never let slip an opportunity to appraise her appearance – if only to irritate her. He was just designed that way; a provocateur wrapped in an enigma wrapped in stubble.

"Keep going Jones, you'll feel it tomorrow when I kick your ass," Emma retorted, stepping around him and walking in the direction David had taken their perp. Killian simply fell into stride beside her, raising his eyebrows.

"The more you talk yourself up, lass, the harder you'll fall," he warned, though his smile betrayed any sort of conviction behind his message. She stopped in search of David as they reached the street, and Killian pointed to a black sedan three meters away from them.

"You say that like you've had personal experience," Emma mocked, turning to her partner with feigned suspicion. He narrowed his eyes to watch her as she strode towards the car and quickly got in.

"That was harsh," he chuckled. The blonde opened the car door, turning in her seat so she could point at him.

"I'll see you in the gym tomorrow. Don't be late."

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The yellow door to her apartment was heavy and Emma found out as much as she tried to push it open. She attributed its added weight to her fatigue and the fact she was wearing heels, _and_ she was carrying dinner and some paperwork to be filled out. When the door did finally inch open, she pushed forward and stumbled as she finally entered the hallway.

Emma put her keys on the hook next to the door and quickly kicked off her shoes, sighing in relief when her feet were flat on the ground. She really did hate having to wear those damned things for take-downs that required a woman's wiles, but since she was the only female field-agent on her team, such was life. Ruby would probably volunteer for the opportunity if her skills weren't purely confined to technology. The tech analyst had an unhealthy obsession with shoes and anything remotely sparkly.

But who was Emma kidding? She loved Ruby; the flamboyant, fun-loving source of comic relief in their team. And in a job like theirs, where they were confronted with horror every day, she was a vital contributor to their sanity. Granted, Emma had become quite adept over the years at keeping a level head – many might call it dehumanization, she called it survival.

Setting down the folder and box of Chinese take-away, Emma peeled off the red dress on her way to her bedroom. She quickly pulled on a pair of slacks and a white wife-beater and returned to the kitchen where she had laid down her belongings. Her dinner had gone cold in the journey from the restaurant to her apartment complex so she placed it into the microwave to reheat while she scanned briefly through the files.

Emma tugged at a stray curl as she read through them, pulling a pen out of one of the drawers in her kitchen and filling in the necessary details. The blonde read through it once more to ensure she hadn't made any mistakes because even a minute error could result in a guilty man's freedom – something she had been forced to learn the hard way back in her early days.

The sound of the microwave beeping alerted her to her to her dinner and she walked over to remove it from the reheating device. However, before she could even open the appliance, the shrill ring of her phone diverted her attention from the steaming box of Chow Mein. Passing by to press stop on the machine so the beeping would cease, Emma quickly made her way to the phone.

"Hello?" she answered, turning around to walk to the microwave again.

"Emma Swan?" a monotonous voice replied, and the blonde's defenses snapped into place. She narrowed her eyes, though she knew the person on the other end of the line couldn't process her response.

"Who is this?" she asked suspiciously, pausing in the center of her kitchen. It was only then that she looked at the clock and realized it was twenty minutes until midnight.

"My name is Allan Mines, I work for Interpol. I have been instructed by my superiors that you are to be informed should a certain inmate escape from Kaechon Political Prison Camp in North Korea."

Emma nearly dropped the phone, and her breath hitched in her throat.

"Has he escaped?" she asked after a fleeting pause.

"Yes, two days ago."

She took a shaky breath, closing her eyes and kneading her forehead. He was out of jail. Did he remember her? Did he hold a grudge? Was he going to come after her? Question swirled around in Emma's head like a maelstrom, attacking her mind's eye with images of a beautiful cream-coloured mansion, gardens filled with white iceberg roses, a swan pendant –

"Hello?" The man's voice forced Emma to put a lid on her rapidly spiraling thoughts, and she took another deep breath before replying.

"Is Jefferson there?" she asked, her hand reaching for the circle necklace at her throat and twirling it nervously between her fingers.

"Yes, would you like me to patch him through?" the man named Allan asked.

"Yes, thank you," Emma replied, her voice catching in her throat and sounding awfully unlike herself. She coughed to extinguish the crackling in her voice as a pleasant tune came through the receiver and Allan ultimately tried to find her former superior. After an agonizingly long moment, the music coming through the phone stopped and she heard as the phone was pulled up off of the switch hook.

For some reason, she held her breath as she waited to hear his voice.

"Emma?" he said, his familiar voice bringing on another wave of memories.

She shut them out, closing her eyes and answering, "Is it true?"

Jefferson was silent for a long moment and she could imagine him playing with his lucky top hat paperweight.

"Yes, we lost track of him in Russia when he fled across the border."

The smell of her dinner wafted through the microwave's closed door, but Emma suddenly wasn't hungry anymore.

**Reviews are finding money you didn't know you had.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much for the response thus far! Lisa 1972: Emma's past is similar to Prentiss' and so will her journey but I've tweaked it so fans of criminal minds don't get bored. Cudos to nicolelovesdisney for beta-ing.**

* * *

The foam mat wasn't entirely uncomfortable to land on. It was designed to subdue the impact of human bodies, providing a sort of buffer between a person's face and the hard floor of the gym. But, while soft enough to prevent the breakage of bones, the mat was firm enough to draw all the breath from Emma's lungs as she fell back onto it with a loud smack.

She groaned in irritation, pushing herself up on her elbows and narrowing her eyes at the man standing over her. His white singlet clung to his muscled chest, damp from exertion and his grey sweatpants had shimmied up his legs slightly. Killian smiled down at her with satisfaction; he knew better than to worry about her safety during these sessions. He'd only made that mistake once before, when they had initially been paired up by the bureau. And Emma, always one to take advantage of a situation, had bested him.

Though it was a source of amusement nowadays, it had been a significant blow to his pride and one of the first indicators that he shouldn't underestimate the Swan girl. He folded his arms across his chest, watching as she pushed herself up and immediately resumed a fighting stance.

"I've yet to regret my comments from last night, love," he chided as they began circling each other.

It wasn't a purely spontaneous statement either, he knew that if he could goad her on enough she would let her emotions override her cognitive function. It was his objective as he grinned provocatively. Fighting was a sort of dance, and one they did as practiced partners; each knowing the other's weaknesses and strengths. And hers was her so tightly bound emotions, though he had to be careful to dance the line between egging her on and damaging the fragile balance of their friendship.

Emma narrowed her eyes briefly before laughing lightly and nodding in understanding. She knew exactly what he was doing and said as much:

"I know what you're doing, Jones."

Killian shrugged unabashedly, "I can only try, Swan."

"Shouldn't you feel some shame that you can't beat me unless my mind is otherwise consumed?" she posed, raising an eyebrow challengingly. Killian stopped, letting his hands drop and watching her carefully. It wasn't often that she let her inner considerations slip, and so obliviously too.

"So you _are_ distracted this morning," he said, just as Emma seized the opportunity and lunged. Taken by surprise, Killian took an extra moment to respond which was all she really needed. She tucked her foot behind his leg lithely and he tried to pivot away from her as she surged her weight forward. They struggled briefly but she pushed her advantage mercilessly and he finally fell backwards onto the mat. Killian tried to sit up but Emma was quickly straddling his abdomen, pinning down his arms with a forearm to his throat. She leaned down close to his chest so he couldn't use his legs to restrain her.

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In the stands that lined the gym, Henry was sitting with David and interrupted their conversation to draw attention to the two team members wrestling on the mat. Emma had just been thrown down for the third time that morning; something very uncharacteristic for her, especially when fighting Killian.

She stood up again, rolling her shoulders and pulling the strap of her singlet up from where it had dropped. She was quickly in position again; arms raised as she lightly began to mirror every move her partner made, like a jungle cat preparing to pounce.

"Isn't Killian worried about hurting her? Emma has a significantly smaller stature and is therefore more likely to be injured," Henry commented, genuine concern in his voice. He knew she was tough but surely Killian might hold back at least a little bit for fear of injuring her. The youngest member of their team felt a sort of brotherly protectiveness over her, though his display of such emotions was limited. David shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched the blonde throw down her partner in much the same way that he had earlier.

"You've clearly never fought Emma," David responded, slapping Henry on the back fondly.

The young man nodded and returned his gaze to his team member, appraising her with apparent newfound veneration as she kept the man beneath her pinned. They appeared to be talking amongst the fight and judging by her facial expression paired with the way she kept tensing when he talked, whatever their conversation concerned was touching some nerves for Emma. Henry turned away for a second as David got up to take a call.

When he turned back, their positions had flipped and Emma was breathing heavily under Killian, who continued their discussion with visibly more concern. There were only very few times when the eternally smug agent displayed genuine emotion and the fact that something about Emma was alarming him disconcerted Henry even further. David's voice drew the young man's attention from them as he walked back towards him.

"We have to go, new case in Illinois. Flight leaves in two hours," he said, moving quickly down the stairs of the stands and towards the two members of their team still struggling on the fighting mats. Henry quickly picked up his brown satchel and threw it over his shoulder as he followed their Unit Chief.

"Oi!" David called as he approached Emma and Killian, who both stopped their heated conversation to look up at him, "We have a case. Get your stuff – we're going to Illinois in two hours."

The two agents disengaged as David and Henry passed and exited the gym, though the latter had to stifle the desire to stay and find out what was going on.

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Killian wiggled his eyes suggestively at their new position, smirking even though her arm was making it uncomfortable for him to breathe. She growled and pressed slightly harder.

"What's got your thoughts elsewhere?" Killian gasped out, manoeuvring himself under her, though she clearly mistook it for an attempt to escape, tightening her grip on him.

"Nothing," she said with forced nonchalance and though she was the one with the in-built lie detector, he could see the untruth in her defence. Raising his eyebrows, Killian pushed his legs up, forcing her to duck her head down as he rolled them over so he was straddling her. She attempted to move but he had already pinned her arms down. Resigned that there was no way to escape until he moved, Emma chose to stare indignantly up at him.

"Liar," he finally replied.

"Leave it, Jones," she ordered, and Killian nearly stopped when he could swear he heard a hint of desperation in her tone. Nevertheless, she continued to glare up at him and wriggled around underneath him. Because of her thin stature, it made her significantly more agile in these sorts of situations. But Killian knew this and swiftly adjusted his position to continue her restraint, his expression sobering as he studied her.

"What's going on, Emma?" he asked, serious for once.

The blonde's breathing was deeper now, her energy obviously sapped as she fought his grip on her. For a fleeting moment, she brought herself up and out of his grip but Killian quickly grasped her arms to push her back down, his legs clasped around her hips to keep her stationary. He leaned down so she couldn't get a grip on his neck with her legs, and held her gaze.

"_Nothing_," Emma said, keeping her blue-grey eyes locked onto his. He opened his mouth to appeal again -

"Oi! We have a case. Get your stuff – we're going to Illinois in two hours," David interrupted as he passed by them, Henry trailing after him with a concerned glance at the two agents on the mat. Killian looked back at Emma once, meeting her eyes fleetingly before releasing his grip on her and standing up. The two members of their team exited the gym, leaving Killian and Emma alone in the huge room.

He offered his hand to help her up, which she glanced at and pointedly ignored. She pushed herself up, and her blonde hair had all but escaped its tie. They were both still breathing heavily, and the tension in the room seemed to have increased tenfold with the departure of Henry and David. She wiped some sweat absentmindedly from her brow and her expression was cold as it met his.

"Emma…" Killian said beseechingly, taking a step towards her. He realised that the careful line they danced along had been crossed, immersing him in the abyss of topics that were off-limits; namely, her personal life.

"I said _leave it_," Emma snapped mercilessly. Her words sliced through the air like a blade and Killian felt his thinly veiled patience break.

"_Fine_!" he barked back, anger consuming the prior apprehension he'd felt and simmering in his chest. She held his stare for a second and spun on her heel, snatching her bag from where it had lain beside the door and promptly leaving. The double doors banged open as she exited, swinging closed in her absence.

Killian shook his head and ran a hand through his damp black hair. Indignation boiled up inside him; why wouldn't she just tell him what was going on, because something obviously was. It could affect their job. He needed to be able to trust her – and he did – but it was a two-way street, and not one she had been very forthcoming with in their time as partners. He knew she was independent, but it was as though she believed every single person she met was going to screw her over if given the right opportunity.

Killian slammed his fist into the practice dummy to his left, taking a steadying breath as the plastic body swayed back and forth from the impact. Shaking his head in frustration, he grabbed his bag and left to prepare for their flight.

8888

As the plane began its ascent into the sky, Killian felt the familiar sensation of being thrust backwards – his ears popping every time he swallowed. He was seated in the back corner of the small plane, reading over the case file and making internal notes while he waited for the seatbelt light to turn off. David and Emma were talking in the booth diagonal from him and Henry was playing chess with Phillip at the opposite end of the plane. He turned back to the manila folder in his lap, though he did strain his ears to hear the conversation between his partner and the Unit Chief. Eavesdropping was not below him.

Eyes downcast, Killian couldn't see their expressions but he could hear the frown in Emma's voice, though it was clear she was trying to subdue her anger around her superior, "Everything will be fine, David. There's no major conflict, we just had a disagreement."

_Lie_ Killian thought idly, lifting up the page he was blankly staring at.

David evidently also found this hard to believe, his tone taking on an incredulous edge, "Are you sure? It looked like it was getting pretty heated." Emma scoffed and Killian found himself smirking at the morbid notes that he wasn't actually reading. His eyes glossed unconsciously over the page and he waited for the discussion to continue. Eventually, the blonde sighed and he would bet his life savings she had been looking out the window. It was a habit of hers when they were travelling; if faced with something that troubled her mind, she would look out the window.

"It's fine. I'll talk to him," she said, obviously disgruntled.

"Thank you – you'll feel better if you do," David replied. As if the pilots had heard their conversation, the seat-belt light disappeared with a sharp ding. He could see from his peripheral vision as Emma stood up, glancing haphazardly at her superior before walking proudly towards him.

His smirk deepened as she flopped down into the caramel coloured leather seat opposite him, an exaggerated 'huff' escaping her mouth. She was silent for a moment, probably trying to think of the best approach to this with the least amount of damage to her dignity. After all, she wasn't the one in the wrong – that much Killian could freely admit to himself.

Truth be told, he'd been contemplating his approach to an apology. However, upon hearing her own admission that she would fix it between the two of them, he felt the need to hold back. He would apologise later, when there were less witnesses, and it was less tense.

"You were listening weren't you?" she suddenly said, no amusement in her tone.

Killian looked up, feigning hurt as he put a hand over his heart, "I'm wounded by your accusation, love."

She raised an eyebrow challengingly, "Unless you were smiling at the fact that four couples have been murdered?"

He nodded in defeat, "Touché – yes, I did happen to overhear your conversation," he admitted shamelessly. Emma didn't appear too surprised by the revelation and simply rolled her eyes with well-practiced reproach. Killian grinned endearingly in return, closing the folder and placing it on the table between them. He slid it towards her and she caught it deftly, opening it and putting it on her lap as she folded her thin legs elegantly under the table.

"Then you'll know," she said, all the while scanning through the files in front of her, "that I'm supposed to settle what happened this morning." Her blue-grey eyes flickered up to his azure ones, apparently testing the waters. Killian kept his gaze on her, watching as she divided her attention between him and the case presented before her.

After a moment of silence passed between them, he shrugged, "There's nothing to talk about." More silence passed between them and she kept her eyes on his, trying to get a read on his expression and apparently deciding the effort wasn't worth it. He looked down at the folder in her hands, "I think the more pressing matter is how four couples were able to be murdered before we were called in. That's eight people," Killian said, changing the subject. He wasn't really done with her reason for distraction – he would eventually trick it out of her – but for now, their focus needed to be on the case at hand.

She appeared grateful for the diversion, her shoulders relaxing as she leaned back into the chair.

"Your mathematics skills astound me," she quipped sarcastically before focussing her attention on the papers in front of her again. Eventually, her eyebrows drew together in a frown. Emma pursed her lips, pulling up the top sheet to look at the one underneath.

"Well, until the latest one, the authorities thought they were just car crashes and that the roads were in need of some upgrading. However, when the M.E found lacerations on the latest victims that couldn't have come from the crash, they looked closer at the past victims. Turns out, someone's been killing the couples and setting them up to look like car crash victims," she said, looking up at her partner.

He nodded, "So, what are we dealing with? A person who hates marriage?"

"Doesn't everyone?" Emma retorted.

"Not David – he's besotted with Mary Margaret," a young male voice interrupted in amusement.

Henry chose that moment to saunter up to them, satisfaction etched in his grin and, judging by the disappointment in Phillip's features, he had clearly won their chess match. The young man leaned on the wall beside Killian's chair and folded his arms across his chest as Phillip took a seat in the booth on the opposite side of the aisle next to Emma. Killian looked briefly towards their Unit Chief to see if he was going to join them, but he was engrossed in a phone call.

Henry chewed on his bottom lip, contemplating Killian's proposal about an anti-establishment murderer.

"Since the victims have thus far displayed signs of significant physical trauma resultant from being beaten with a large blunt object and the fact that the women were sexually assaulted, this is probably a sexual sadist," the young agent commented, pushing some of his hair behind his ears.

Emma put the folder down, finished reading through it, and ran a hand through her blonde hair.

"Judging by the amount of trauma the female counterparts suffered, I'd say he's a malignant misogynist," she suggested. Phillip shifted in his seat to face his team-members better, taking his reading glasses off and folding them lightly so he could hang them on the pocket of his dress shirt.

"Such hatred towards women would indicate a past traumatic experience – perhaps he previously suffered abuse at the hands of a woman?" Phillip added, putting his elbow on the table in front of him and leaning his head in his hand.

Henry shook his head, "That doesn't explain why he's also hurting the male counterparts. He clearly has some kind of motivation for attacking the husbands otherwise he would only be targeting women."

They fell silent in thought and Killian found his eyes absentmindedly on Emma, whose own gaze was directed out the window – as usual. He smirked just as David made an appearance next to the blonde, leaning on her chair and observing them all with quiet amusement. They were all deep in thought, something David had so eloquently compared to a scene from Scooby-Do in cases gone by.

"What have I missed?" he asked, drawing everyone's attention away from the mystery presented by the serial killers strange M.O.

"Who was that?" Killian replied with a nod and cheeky smile, referring to the Unit Chief's phone call.

David narrowed his eyes good-naturedly, "Mary Margaret. We were discussing our vow renewals that are coming up soon." Henry and Phillip's eyes both softened at the mention of the petite brunette and the fairytale-esque romance she shared with their boss. For two men, they were both saps – though Phillip's temperament could be contributed to his prior profession as a psychologist and Henry's to the naivety that came with his young age.

Emma and Killian shared an amused look, unaffected by the prospective 'cuteness' of their boss's love-life – though the Gods knew that as soon as Ruby caught wind, they would be swept up in the fiasco like it was the second coming of Christ.

"_Anyway_," David said, drawing out the last syllable to garner him their attention, "I was talking to the local Police Chief on the way to the airport and they need us to get a lid on this – fast. Apparently, the media are quickly catching on to the abnormal treatment of the 'car accidents' and it won't be soon before they break the story and finding the un-sub becomes twice as difficult."

"Should Phillip prepare a press release just in case they do find out before we catch him?" Emma suggested, gesturing to their media communications officer.

David considered it, "Maybe a general outline but we really need to catch this guy before that – eight people are dead." For a moment, Killian considered throwing Emma's quip about mathematics at his superior but thought the better of it when he realised that the man might take his comment the wrong way; he didn't want their Unit Chief to believe he thought what they were dealing with was a joke.

Apparently, only he and Emma could share such novelties around one another without personal opinions being damaged. At least, so long as they toed the very careful line in the sand that separated work from personal – a line Killian had foolishly crossed earlier that day and was still wary of as he kept an eye on Emma. He really would have to apologise to her for that, but later. She didn't appear all too concerned by his lack of apology thus far, maybe _he_ had overreacted.

He turned that notion over in his head for a moment and quickly dismissed it – he hadn't overreacted, she had definitely been touchy about something and he had definitely pushed too far, too fast.

"So, I'm still waiting to be filled in about our ideas about the case?" David said, and Killian was forced to tune back into the conversation. Emma quickly relayed their ideas about a sexual sadist with qualities of a malignant misogynist, also pointing out that they hadn't yet identified why the un-sub might be attacking couples if he hated women so much.

David nodded thoughtfully, "Okay well, while we're trying to figure that out – when we touch down, I want you to call Ruby and see if she can identify past cases of animal abuse and compare them with past reports of assault – these victims are being strategically placed so this un-sub has thought about it and it's probably because he's gotten away with it before."

Killian nodded, raising his arm half-heartedly, "I'll call Ruby," he volunteered to which everyone rolled their eyes. The tech analyst and he had a strange relationship that no one really understood.

"Sure thing," David said, "in the meantime, get some rest – the next few days are going to be long and hard."

With that last note, he picked the manila file up off the table in front of Killian and headed to the back of the plane where he sat down and began to read through it. Henry sighed loudly, uncrossing his arms and standing away from the wall he had been leaning on.

"I'll be up the back."

"Sleeping?" Emma questioned in a tone akin to a suspicious mother.

Henry looked down guiltily, "Yes."

"Liar – you heard David, get some sleep," she said sternly. The young agent didn't reply but kept his eyes downcast as he shuffled to the back of the plane and took a seat in the booth next to David's. He looked like a puppy with its tail between its legs as he leaned back into the leather chair and closed his eyes.

Killian looked back at Emma with a raised eyebrow, "You sure you've never been married with kids?" he jibed, to which the blonde snickered sarcastically. She put her hands on the table and pushed herself up, leaning forward slightly to speak to Killian.

"I'm going to get some rest and make sure _he_ does," she said, nodding to the back of the plane where Henry's eyes were now open.

"Dream of me, love," Killian replied. Emma rolled her eyes, sliding out of the booth and walking to the back where she sat opposite the youngest member of their team. The agent's expression deadpanned when Emma sat opposite him and their hushed voices only barely reached Killian – though he hadn't the effort to try and discern their words. Instead, he turned to Phillip who had been quietly staring out the window in much the same way Emma always did when deep in thought.

Killian chose not to interrupt him, leaning back into the seat and getting comfortable for the short trip to Illinois. He let his eyes drift close and, still exhausted from their take-down and the early-morning combat session, was almost immediately claimed by fatigue.

8888

Chicago reminded Killian of New York; the tall buildings looming over their convoy of black sedans as they drove towards the police district. It probably looked as if some foreign royals were making an appearance, but no, it was just their squadron of behavioural analysts ready to catch a serial killer.

The plane trip had been mostly quiet, after their group discussion nobody had really talked, everyone attempting to catch some shut-eye before the week ahead. It was a feeling Killian got in the depths of his bones that told him this case might take a couple of days. After all, the un-sub had escaped this long without even being noticed and probably still thought he was in the clear.

They had a window of opportunity, though a short one, to catch the guy before he relocated or changed his M.O. It was going to be a stressful week. Nevertheless, it was a part of the job – a part he'd adapted to quite swimmingly if he did say so himself. Although it did help to have a tech analyst whose gaudy clothing was only ever outdone by her bright personality. Killian pulled out his phone as they drove through the city, dialling the familiar number and waiting patiently for Ruby to answer.

The phone rung twice before her voice boomed through the receiver at what would be considered by others as an unusually high decibel, "Ruby's Lair of all things knowable and unknowable, how may I be of service?"

"Hey sweet cheeks," he replied with a grin, "Would it trouble you terribly to do me a favour?"

"If by trouble you mean excite, than yes… Wait, you aren't finally going to model naked for one of my drawing classes are you?"

Killian laughed, "No, as I've explained before, I don't trust people who model nude for others ever since I saw Titanic."

"You're still going on with that?" Ruby deadpanned.

"I'm sorry but Rose could have moved the hell over and let Jack survive too." Ruby sighed on the other end, and he recalled her reaction when he had first related his mistrust of the red-headed temptress from the most tragic film of all time. It had mostly been shock that he had even seen the movie, followed by disdain that he could declare such blasphemy.

In fact, the entire team had been surprised to hear that he – Killian Jones, the suave son of a bastard with the devil's charm – had watched a movie renowned for its status among the female population; especially since they'd never seen him in a long-term relationship.

Killian felt his heart constrict in his chest as memories of when he _had_ been forced to watch Titanic swirled in his mind. He shut down his thoughts immediately, knowing better than to ponder over the life he'd led before the BAU.

"Any who, what is it you called me for beautiful?" Ruby asked, providing an amiable distraction from the ruminations tempting to burst forth from their restrains in his mind. Though significantly less jovial, he put on an insincere smile as he continued speaking.

"Would you mind checking if there were cases of past animal abuse and assault leading up to the murders in the general area of Chicago?"

She scoffed with mock incense, "Honey, I could do that in my sleep with one hand tied behind my back." He could hear as her ring-bedazzled fingers skittered across the keyboard in what would have been a flurry of movements.

"Done - anything else that might challenge me, hot-shot?" the tech analyst asked, lowering her voice in an attempt to sound sensual. Killian felt himself genuinely grin, their antics immediately lightening the dark cloud that had descended on him at the thought of his former life.

"You're bloody brilliant. Could you send those to us?" There was another brief moment where all he heard was the sound of her perfectly-manicured fingers commanding the computer to do her bidding and then her voice was once again in his ear.

"Your wish is my command – stay safe, be nice and shoot the bad guys," she said.

"Thank you again, Red." He grinned brilliantly as he hung up the phone and looked up to meet Emma's eyes in the rear-view mirror. She was staring at him. He raised an eyebrow challengingly.

"Eavesdropping, love?" he asked.

"Don't act like you're above it, Jones," she retorted, reminding him of his own prying earlier that day, "Did she find anything?" He nodded appreciatively, both in agreement with her initial statement and confirmation of her latter question.

"Yeah, Ruby's sending over the files now for us to look at."

Emma nodded once, and let her eyes drift out the window. She didn't meet his gaze again, and he wouldn't deny that he thought it had something to do with the fact that they still felt marginally strange about that morning. It was unlike him to just drop something that he seemed so fervent about, and he wondered whether she actually believed that he'd given up.

They pulled into an underground garage and were escorted to an elevator where the team travelled up to the station. As the sliding doors opened, they entered into a large office area, overrun with men and women in police uniforms scrambling every which way, answering phones, filing papers, collecting printing. It was chaotic – incredibly dissimilar to their overly-organised home-base in Quantico. Though, _that_ likely had something to do with the kid's obsession with perfection that neared on OCD. Killian often teased Henry about his over-active tendencies, but it was all done in good-spirits.

David was at the front of their group, quickly recognised by a petite redhead in the far corner of the room who shuffled towards them and smiled warmly at him. She extended her hand, eyes scanning over the team with what looked like relief.

"I'm Sally Nicholls, the Police Chief – thank you so much for coming," she said, shaking David's hand firmly as if it was a representation of her immense gratitude.

"It's no problem. I'm David Nolan, the Unit Chief," he introduced himself and, letting go of the woman's hand, indicated to the team one at a time, "That's Dr Henry Simmons, Agent Perrault, Agent Jones and Agent Swan." Killian had long wondered why the man always introduced the youngest member of their team with his title (gained through many complicated and well-earned bachelor's degrees), and had been informed a short time ago that it was to establish him as an equal. Due to his young age, Henry was often seen as inferior and inexperienced – two things he was definitively not. So, to institute a sense of maturity, David would also use the kid's title. It was strange how the world worked. Clearly the world didn't know that the kid had an eidetic memory and could read faster than Killian could run.

"It's nice to meet you all," Sally said, her eyes lingering on Killian longer than he thought was necessary. He relished in the attention though, glancing automatically at his partner to gage her reaction. She rolled her eyes, muttering something about him being incorrigible and his grin only broadened. He leaned closer to her so he was facing away from their team and his breath heated the spot below Emma's ear.

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, love," he murmured conspiratorially, turning back to face the Chicago Police Chief with a bright smile. Emma scoffed at his insinuation and moved closer to David, waiting for him to establish their next moves now that they had finally arrived.

"We've got a room ready for you," Sally said, motioning for them to follow her. She led them through the office to a room which, upon entry, turned out to be quite an elaborate set-up. There was a white-board on the left side of the room with what appeared to be information about the un-sub, next to it was a transparent version of the board with information about each of the couples. There was a cork board on the right side of the room where photos from each of the scenes along with the medical examiner's reports had been pinned.

In the centre of the brightly lit room was a round table with black leather-backed chairs around it and a conference phone in the centre. Killian nodded in approval as Emma pursed her lips in admiration, it was quite impressive. Sally seemed to be chuffed too, watching each of the analysts carefully, probably to memorize their reactions and recall it whenever she felt self-conscious – because then she could remind herself; she had once impressed the nation's top Behavioural Analysis Unit with her spiffy interior design. Bravo.

There was a moment of awkward silence as the team waited for her to leave the room, not out of rudeness but simply because they were used to going about their own thing. Having someone foreign watching as they pieced together ideas about the case would be… not exactly comfortable.

Sally seemed to register their eyes on her and bowed her head reverently, "I'll leave you to it then, let me know when you're ready to give us a profile," she said. Killian was still baffled by her awed perceptions of them; it wasn't as if they were famous, they were just the guys who people called in to catch particularly cunning serial killers.

Nevertheless, it was a grateful change from the egotistical imbeciles who were all but forced to call them in after more than a few unsolved murders. Killian had always despised them, they tended to get in the way more often than provide assistance. Their behaviour often bordered on narcissism.

Henry made himself at home in front of the information about the couples as Phillip sat down to begin drawing an outline to a press release. David and Emma both walked over to the pin board to examine the gruesome photos from the crashes as Killian walked over to the white-board, picked up the marker and began writing out the characteristics they had discussed on the plane.

He let his cerulean gaze drift over the scrawl of his handwriting, occasionally adding notes and possible theories. When he finally stepped back to look at his handiwork, he noticed that Henry was sitting on the edge of the table staring at the mind-map of the serial killer, apparently no longer consumed by the information about the couples.

"Could the un-sub be working with a partner who has a need to maim the men?" Henry suggested, pointing at the concepts on the board that didn't seem to match up with the perpetrator's modus operandi. Killian shrugged.

"Perhaps, but usually with two people there's a dominant and submissive and looking at the bodies I wouldn't pick either as submissive if there were two," he responded, cocking his head to the side in a vain attempt to get a fresh view of their clues. Henry chewed on his bottom lip as his eyes pierced into the board, the clogs in his head almost audibly whizzing around.

Killian could feel a headache coming on like it was the tide of the beach coming in, slowly creeping its way into the nerves of his brain and setting them aflame. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, trying to quell the internal maelstrom rocking the inside of his head. With a deep breath, he stood up and tried to focus on something else, anything else.

"Headache?" Henry asked as Killian moved away from the table.

"Yep," he answered. He walked around the table to the opposite side of the room where he decided to join in on the conversation between Emma and David. They were still looking at the pin-board with the gruesome images from the 'car-accidents'.

"Have the families been contacted?" Emma asked, her eyes landing on an image of one of the women who had been slaughtered: her body mangled beside her dead husband's.

David nodded, "Yes, thankfully only one of the couples had kids. One was a pair of newlyweds, another was infertile but looking at adoption and the last ones were trying to salvage their marriage from what I've been told."

"Have they spoken to the parents of the couples?" Killian interjected, feeling Emma's and David's eyes turn to him.

"Briefly," he replied, "I think we'll have to call them in."

Henry's voice could be heard across the small room as he threw over his shoulder, "So far there's no connection between the couples other than they were all on road trips."

"We'll have to call the parents in – see if they had their itinerary," Emma confirmed with an exasperated sigh.

David turned to the blonde who was now staring over the Unit Chief's shoulder with a look that combined irritation with fatigue, "Can you organise to meet the families?"

"They're all from different states," Henry called over his shoulder again – boy had the hearing of a bat. Emma raised her eyebrows questioningly at David, silently asking what he expected her to do with that information in mind. Killian also turned his eyes to the blonde man, sharing her curiosity. David mirrored their expression though his held a momentous underpinning of condescension.

"_You're_ supposed to be part of the modern generation – use technology. We only need to speak to them," he said. The blonde rolled her eyes, walking out of the room and Killian followed her. When she noticed him following her, she raised an elegant eyebrow.

"You aren't devolving into one of those agents who follow their superiors around like puppies are you?"

He frowned, "Since when were you my superior? I joined the team first, darling."

Emma shrugged, "I reckon I'm higher up the rank than you," she admitted haughtily. Killian watched her with what he hoped she registered as scepticism as they stopped in the middle of the room and waited for the red-headed police chief to find them. She turned to face him completely, raising her chin defiantly with her own thin smirk.

"_Please_, I'm second in command to David," Killian declared with a nod back to their headquarters.

"He likes me better," she countered and as much as he wanted to, he couldn't deny that. David had possessed a special kinship with Emma ever since she joined their team – though not in the way many people seemed to misconstrue. It was more like a fatherly affection, minus the paternal links.

"_Regina_ likes me better," he finally retorted, satisfaction oozing from his stance as Emma's eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. The blonde never had gotten along with the Section Chief of the Behavioural Analysis Unit. The blunt, generally antagonistic woman who ran their unit possessed many controversial beliefs, many of which happened to contrast starkly with Killian's partners. As a result, it wasn't an uncommon occurrence to see the two women in heated conversations in the halls of their Quantico base.

"David isn't controlled by Regina," Emma hissed as she and Killian noticed the red-headed police chief striding towards her, an eager grin on her round face.

"Need some help?" she asked pleasantly, interrupting their conversation.

Emma smiled tightly back – she never had possessed an affinity for such open naïve people (especially ones who found it in them to work in the disciplinary field). Killian never understood it, but he tolerated it since it was amusing to watch her attempts at being civil around people who clearly irritated her.

"Have you got the contact details for the parents of the victims?" Emma asked.

"Of course, do you need to speak with them?"

"Yes, we just have some questions for them," Killian replied with a charming grin. Sally faltered for a second as her eyes landed on his lips and he had to subdue the urge to look at Emma with a smug smirk.

"W-wait right here, I'll be back in a moment," the woman finally stuttered out, walking briskly towards the other end of the office. The second she left, Killian and Emma turned back to face each other.

"Regina may give him a long leash but the second she pulls it, David will heel like a golden retriever," he said without a hint of animosity, returning to the subject of their previous discussion. However, despite the lack of actually spite in his tone, ice began to seep into Emma's stormy gaze.

"David is twice the person Regina is," she growled under her breath.

"Never said he wasn't."

Sally returned with a piece of paper and smiled brightly as she handed it to Emma.

"Here you go – in alphabetical order," she said, clearly impressed with herself, as the blonde took the list from her grip with forced calm, but he imagined she wanted to snatch it from the petite woman's delicate hand.

"Thanks." Emma forced herself to smile again before spinning on her heel and striding back to their office. Killian sighed dramatically, nodding in gratitude to the small woman and following the path his blonde partner had forged in the frenzied office.

When he finally caught up with her, just before they reached the door, he spoke in her ear over her shoulder, "No need to be snippy darling, I wasn't trying to emasculate David." But she ignored him, opening the door and making a beeline for the man in mention who was still consumed by the corkboard on the right side of the room.

* * *

**Reviews are the exquisite feeling of settling into bed when you're fatigued.**


	3. Chapter 3

**You people are flawless - cookies for all of you! **

* * *

Sometimes, when Emma was young, she had dreamed up stories that explained her parent's abandonment. It had been a way to cope with the bluntness of reality; a sort of imaginary land of muted colours and hazy details that would temporarily blind her to the harsh colours of the world she lived in. Her mind would paint pretty pictures of a magical land akin to something from a storybook, detailing a story about a king and queen forced to send their daughter to a far-off land to keep her safe.

There, in that made-up land, she had found refuge. Of course, with age came understanding and eventually the little girl who had once fervently justified the actions of her paternal parents became a guarded young woman. Her parents weren't a king and queen and she wasn't a lost princess. She was just another kid in the system, destined to be passed from one foster family to another until she was spat out onto the streets where she would presumably stay.

Curled in a ball under her bed, hiding from her foster parents and their violent tendencies, Emma had learned young that the worst people put on the best facades; child services representatives oblivious to the fact that the bruises on her arms were not from falling off her bike – unless her foster father's drunken escapade could be classified as a 'biking accident.'

It was only after a particularly violent outburst by foster father number six on her fifteenth birthday that she'd promised herself she would not fall victim to the system. She would beat the system.

From that night on, Emma had decided upon her future in law enforcement, a life of locking up bastards that classified brutality as discipline. Luckily for her, the skills she'd grown up honing just happened to be the sort of thing the BAU needed. And with rock-hard determination, she'd immersed herself in a life of taking down the real monsters of the world – not the ones she'd imagined as a child, the ones who forced her parents to give her up.

At least these kids would know their parents hadn't left them by choice and it was a small but meaningful notion. Emma's eyes were glued to the picture on the clear board, the one that showed a happy family of four; two parents smiling with satisfaction and pride as they embraced both children who were also beaming contentedly at the camera.

It wasn't fair that two children should be left behind after only a decade with their parents. But then, life wasn't fair and something in Emma's mind cruelly reminded her of the abundant amount of experience she possessed to support the statement.

Nevertheless, the blonde continued to stare at the picture, keeping her face impassive despite the empathy she felt for the two kids. At least she had never known her parents, so she'd never recognized what she had missed out on. But these children understood what it was to have unconditional love and they would have to bear the crushing weight of its absence. It caused hot anger to simmer in her chest and she turned her glare on the board housing the un-sub's details.

"What did the white-board ever do to you?" a lilting voice asked beside her.

She didn't have to turn her head to know Killian had walked up to stand beside her.

"Not the white board," Emma replied simply. He frowned for a moment but then realised what she meant and his expression darkened significantly. He too stared at the board as the silence stretched between them.

"It's unlike you to feel so personally offended by an un-sub," Killian commented, glancing sideways at her.

"We don't usually deal with cases where young kids are left parentless."

A look of understanding flickered across his face and staring at the transparent board; he too stared at the family photo. His hand twitched and she wondered if he had the same urge she did upon seeing the image; to rip it down and throttle the idiot who decided to broadcast the picture. As if the team didn't need reminding of the morbid dealings of their job, or the fact that two children were now orphans.

"Will they be put in the system?" he asked.

"Depends if they have any other family that'll be willing to take them in," she murmured back, recalling her own treatment in Child Service's and praying that the happily grinning kids in the photo had someone to rely on. She never had – but that's what happens when you're dropped off on the side of a freeway with no explanation.

"Well, we know they have grandparents because we have to interview them soon… I'm sure they have somewhere to go," he said, sounding oddly like he was trying to comfort her.

"We'll see," Emma replied in a monotone, physically refusing the urge to sound hopeful. She was also still pissed off at him for their earlier altercation about David. It was stupid – she knew that. But, for some reason, there was a miniscule part of her that was incensed by the way he mentioned Regina.

Needing a distraction from the strange clenching and unclenching of her stomach at the personal topics swirling around in her head, she focused her attention on the white-board.

So far, it was clear that it was a white middle-aged male who had some form of past trauma at the hands of a woman. His anger had simmered for years and he had dealt with it by torturing animals and then assaulting women but something – some kind of catalyst – had forced him to erupt and resort to murder to deal with his feelings. _Did no one these days know about counselling?_

They were yet to identify a number of things: why he was attacking couples and not simply the women, what the stressor was that had pushed him to homicide, how he was subduing his victims and how he was finding them.

"Okay," Emma finally said, crossing her arms, "so do we know yet whether the victims were drugged?"

"Not yet, we'll be getting the results back tomorrow morning," Killian replied.

"But it's likely that he's using something like Rohypnol. The question is how he's getting it into their systems," the blonde mused quietly to herself and Killian nodded.

"Well, there weren't any signs of puncture wounds so he's not injecting it, if that is what he's using."

"Ingestion?" Emma suggested.

"If he's feeding it to them, they're doing so willingly," he added.

"Okay, so he's probably got some kind of establishment where they're eating it. Had they checked into their hotels before they went missing?"

"No and they weren't staying at the same hotels anyway."

"Damn... maybe a stop-off point then?"

Killian rubbed his chin in thought, nodding in agreement, "A gas station might be a good guess."

She glanced at the information on the clear board, the common link between the couples; route 55.

"Do you reckon you could get Ruby to give us a list of gas stations along route 55?" Emma asked, despite knowing the answer. He turned to give her an incredulous look because of course he could get the tech analyst to do that. Her partner pulled out his phone and walked to the opposite side of the room, presumably to call Ruby as Emma looked over her shoulder to observe what the rest of her team was doing.

Phillip was still working on the press release plan which would hopefully stay unused as Henry set out each individual case file in front of him to study the specific facts of each incident. He was nearly done thanks to the speed at which he read. It was then that Emma noticed David had left the room and she looked out of the office through the transparent glass walls to see him conversing with Sally.

She let her eyes drift from her Unit Chief to her partner, who was smiling happily as he spoke to Ruby. Emma decided to sit down, pulling her laptop out of her bag she had set on the large round table and opening it to check her emails. The moment she logged in, a sharp ding informed her that she had unread mail.

It was from Ruby and had been sent to all members of their team. She opened it up, it read:

_My ruthless avengers, here is the information that I have decided to bequeath you with as per the request of the Irish knight. I can feel your gratitude all the way from Quantico. Visit Lincoln Park Zoo for me. Love from your all-knowing, all-seeing sorceress (Ruby)._

Emma smiled to herself and shook her head as her eyes scanned through the message – how could someone so intelligent be so strangely optimistic? She'd always been told the smartest people were the saddest. Perhaps, the brunette was just incredibly talented at hiding it.

She opened up the attached files and the information was quickly in front of her. The chair she sat on leaned back, making it obvious someone was resting on it and she looked over her shoulder. When she noticed Killian was no longer on the other side of the room she realised it was him, a fact that was confirmed when he leaned further forward so his head hovered just above her shoulder, staring intently at the screen.

"What did Ruby find?" Emma asked, leaning away from him so she could face him.

"There are quite a few so I got her to narrow it down to ones with cash only and food and beverage amenities. She's sent the list to my phone. I think we should check it out," he replied, eyes flitting across the screen to read the details of the files Ruby had sent earlier. His expression quickly sobered and Emma turned back to look at the computer monitor.

"Six animal corpses found on the Ryer property outside of town from 2003 to 2005. And then from 2006 to 2010 there were four sexual assaults around that area believed to have been committed by the same person… and then last year there were another two… remind me again why we're only_ just_ being called in," Killian asked, reading off the screen in front of him.

"I don't even know anymore," Emma admitted with a sigh.

A shrill ring made the blonde jump slightly in the seat and she quickly recognized it as her ringtone. Thrusting her hand into her bag she pulled it out and took note of the caller I.D., her posture stiffening as she realised who was calling her. It only took her a moment to stand up and duck out of the small room, ignoring the meaningful look Killian gave her as she all but sprinted from the office.

Emma walked quickly to a corner of the large office and, after checking that the people who might have been within earshot were occupied, pressed the button to answer the call. She took a deep breath before holding it to her ear.

"Jefferson," she greeted.

"Emma," he replied simply.

"I wouldn't flatter myself by saying you've called for personal reasons."

"You're right," Jefferson answered, and she heard the brief shuffling of papers on the other end. There was silence as she waited for him to explain what he was doing calling her at what, for him, would have been an ungodly hour.

"You wanted me to let you know if we caught sight of him?" he said, though the way his voice rose at the end implied a question, as though he were asking her if she really wanted to know. And of course she did, she needed to know because she needed to know how long she had before he came for her.

"Yes."

He sighed, "One of my sources spotted him in the Ukraine yesterday. I'll keep you updated though." He said the last part like it might reassure her. _Ha, the only thing that would be reassuring would be to have him dead or in an American cell block._ Emma cursed the feelings that rose up within her at the thought of him dead and she hated herself for the treacherous sentiments. The emotions warring within her head were confusing and complex, like mismatched puzzle pieces that had been forced together through no desire of her own.

"Thank you," she said, letting genuine gratitude tint her voice.

"Are you sure he's coming after you? After all this time?"

"I don't know."

But she did. His voice whispered in her ear though there was no one behind her, his image dancing behind her lids like a nightmare just waiting for her to fall asleep.

"_I love you."_

"_I'm sorry."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because it shouldn't have been like this."_

"_You know that's not what I mean."_

"_It doesn't matter. Goodbye."_

"_I'll never forget you."_

Emma blinked rapidly, clearing her fuzzy thoughts and schooling her features into a mask of indifference. It was with horror that she realised she had let her façade slip, the mixture of nostalgia and fear clear on her face for a brief moment. Her blue-grey eyes scanned the office, swiftly checking that no one had seen her falter. Everyone was still hastily answering phones and printing documents and tapping away at computer keyboards.

Despite the niggling feeling in her gut telling her that _someone_ had seen, she dismissed it and turned her attention back to the phone in her hand.

"Have you called the others?" Emma asked, thinking about her former teammates and the threat that was probably looming over them.

"Yes, except Miranda. I haven't been able to get in touch with her yet," he replied.

She ran a hand through her blond hair, "I'll try to get through to her. Thanks for everything, Jefferson."

"Anytime."

The line went dead and Emma put the phone back in her pocket as she started walking back to the office. Her movements felt unnaturally fluid though, like she was numb and wading through deep water. Perhaps she was drowning her own thoughts, she didn't know and she didn't intend to contemplate the thought too deeply.

Emma walked briskly back into the room, immediately striding towards her partner whom she tapped on the shoulder. He turned to face her immediately, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Did you get the list of gas stations that Ruby sent?"

He nodded.

And, feeling slightly harried, Emma nodded to the door, "Should we check them out?"

Killian was apparently surprised by her sudden desire to leave as well, frowning in confusion. But she didn't need to ask twice he responded immediately, grabbing his phone and the keys to one of the sedans off the table and following her to the door. They made quick work of leaving the crowded police station and she could feel his icy blue eyes every time he glanced at her.

As they reached the black sedan, Emma took the keys from Killian and pressed the button to unlock the car. Once she had identified which one belonged to the keys, by watching for which vehicle's lights flashed when she used the remote, she walked briskly to the driver's side and jumped in, waiting for her partner to do the same on the other side. And he did, but before she could turn the keys which she had harshly shoved into the ignition, Killian leaned over and pulled the keys out and away from her grip.

She glared at him, "What?"

"What's wrong?" he asked seriously, levelling her with an apprehensive stare.

Emma sighed and rubber her forehead with her hand, "Are we really going to go through this again?"

"This isn't about that – I just need to make sure you're in the right state of mind because I need to know that you'll have my back." She held his gaze evenly, looking out the car's stationery window at their concrete surroundings. The only sound in the vehicle was that of the car keys' feint tinkling as Killian held them in his hand mixed with the almost inaudible sound of their breathing. It felt like a long moment, but was most likely only a second, before she found it within herself to reply.

Emma turned back to face him, meeting his stare, "I've got your back," she said, putting her hand out. He looked at her for a second longer, his eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly before, still holding her stormy gaze, he dropped the keys into her hand with a final jingle of metal tapping metal. She immediately dropped her eyes to the little silver pieces in her hand, picking out the large black one and inserting it into the slot next to the wheel.

From her peripheral vision she could see as he kept watching her, even as they pulled out of the precinct and onto the roads. It was late afternoon and the sun was beginning to tint the sky a beautiful spectra of oranges and pinks. As they drove out of the city and onto route 55, the horizon became visible and it truly was a beautiful sight to behold. The sun slowly descending into the sky as she continued to drive towards the furthest gas station Ruby had told him about so that they could work their way back towards the city.

"Where's the first one?" Emma asked, checking the cars surrounding her before merging into the lane beside them.

Killian opened the file on his phone, looking at the first one and seeing the sign approaching in the distance.

"Over there," he said, pointing towards the little gas station.

8888

It was three hours later when Emma and Killian trudged back into the office, unsuccessful and exhausted. Not only that, but the former was momentously pissed off by the last of the gas station attendant that they had interviewed. Misogynistic bastard had thought it would be a good idea to make comment on the blonde's choice of profession only after taking a long moment to ogle her chest. Beside her, Killian's stare had hardened and he'd thankfully chosen that moment to grasp her elbow as a silent reminder that they needed this guy's assistance. Although, she could swear she'd heard utter loathing when her partner had next spoken to the greasy bulbous man.

The two agents had looked at security footage from all the gas stations and none had revealed sighting of the couples. So, they hadn't stopped off for fuel along the highway and Emma was absolutely lost for ideas.

She fell into one of the leather-backed chairs as she entered the small office and David turned around to face her from where he was standing across the room with Phillip.

"How'd it go?" he asked, his gaze flickering up to her male counterpart who sat on the edge of the table.

"I strongly dislike the gas station attendants here," Emma replied, massaging her temples with a look of deep consternation etched on her face.

Killian looked over his shoulder at the Unit Chief, "Needless to say, we got nothing."

Emma ran a hand through her blonde hair, more worn out than usual. David looked at all of them sitting at the round table, standing in front of the white boards with markers at the ready, looking out the window in great concentration.

The Unit Chief sighed loudly, "Okay guys – I think it's time go back to the hotel. We'll come back in the morning with fresh eyes. Pack up," he said, walking to the table and stacking the notes so far.

Henry picked up his satchel, throwing the brown strap over his shoulder and walking to the door. Emma and Phillip quickly followed and then Killian and David. The large precinct which had earlier been bustling with activity had quietened down. There were only a couple of people still stationed at their desks – unlucky bastards that got the night duty.

The team made their way to the elevator, and they all leaned against the shiny glass walls as they descended into the car-park. They were exhausted – the _case_ was already exhausting and they hadn't even begun to pry it open.

Emma and Killian took one of the black sedans while Henry, David and Phillip took the other. It was silent in the large car, Killian driving as Emma drifted into a sort of semi-conscious state, her eyes closing for long periods of time before opening again lazily. Within fifteen minutes, the two cars had pulled into their hotel and the team was making their way to their designated rooms. Emma got her own room – being the only female on the team – while Henry and Phillip shared a room and Killian and David shared another.

The second she entered her room, she let her bags drop onto the floor either side of her, the thump resounding throughout the empty room. Emma walked straight towards the bed but just as she sat down her phone began to vibrate – she'd put it on silent after that morning when it had clearly drawn Killian's attention.

She sighed dramatically, groaning and mumbling irritably as she extracted the slim device from her jeans pocket. For once, Emma didn't even need to look at the caller I.D. to know who was on the other end.

"Graham?" she answered, her voice breathy and tired despite the subject matter he would have intended.

"Emma, Jefferson called me the other day, he's –"

"Yeah, I know. He's out – I'm pretty sure I was the first to be called, Graham," Emma interrupted, taking the end of her pony tail in the hand not holding the phone and twiddling with it. She looked around the room and, for some reason or another, at the mention of her most recent problem it was like the walls began to close in. Her heart rate picked up marginally and she felt her mouth go dry.

"Sorry, Em – I was just checking if you knew. He told me they –"

"Spotted him in Russia when he fled the border and then again in Ukraine?"

"And you clearly never got a hold on your tendencies to cut people off," he said, his Irish-tinted voice drifting into a soft chuckle which tugged at the corners of Emma's lips. She had missed Graham.

"It's not my fault if you're trying to tell me things I already know," she retorted easily. Silence crackled in the phone as the weight of what they would need to discuss settled on their shoulders; like the air was increasing in density, becoming harder to breath.

"Has Jefferson contacted Miranda yet?" Emma asked, her hand reaching up to rub circles on her temple.

"No, he hasn't been able to get through," Graham replied solemnly.

"Where was she working last?"

Silence.

"Ukraine."

A feeling of sadness settled over Emma and she felt as though a blow had been delivered to her lower abdomen. It was quiet on the phone as neither agent knew what to say, though they were both thinking the same thing.

After shrouding herself with the massive workloads of the BAU for years, Emma's past was running to catch up with her. And she didn't know if she had the strength to keep sprinting.

"Emma?" his voice whispered through the phone.

"Yeah?"

"You know I can come down to Quantico if you need?"

A grateful smile dusted her lips in spite of the automatic response, "I can take care of myself." She could hear as he sighed on the other end, probably cursing her inability to accept assistance.

"But thanks," she continued awkwardly, dropping the hand not holding the phone onto her lap and picking at her jeans.

"Well, you know where I am if you need me," he said and then, "oh, I nearly forgot – August wanted me to tell you to call him."

"You're _still _working with him?" Emma asked surprised.

He laughed half-heartedly, "Yeah – can't seem to get rid of him."

Their conversation had come to an irrefutable end and the blonde was the one to finally announce her intentions to shower and go to bed.

As she hung up, Emma kicked off her shoes and lay back on the soft bed, pushing herself into a comfortable position. She didn't even bother getting changed, or rather she was under the spell of fatigue before she fully realised it.

_Emma tapped her keyboard at a rapid pace, writing out a report that she didn't actually know the details to. Her fingers moved in quick succession on the keys, forming words she wasn't sure she was coherently forming. It was a mad blur of black and white on her computer screen, and it suddenly hit her as strange that she would be writing a report about an unknown case. After all, they were still working the one in Illinois._

_Emma looked up from her computer, instantly recognizing her surroundings as their office in Quantico. _

_Except it was empty – devoid of any and all human inhabitancy other than herself, the usually busy precinct silent and unmoving. The blonde stood up from her desk to take a better look around, walking out of her designated booth and scrutinising the entire room. _

_Everything was in its place. Yet she could feel nausea slowly sweeping over her. Her heart began to beat faster and her ribs hurt with the feeling it caused in her chest, her stomach twisting into knots. Emma frowned and searched for the source of her discomfort, first checking herself before trying to identify any anomaly in the familiar room._

_She walked past all of the desks towards the glass doors that led to the hall. The BAU's logo was plastered across the double doors and she pushed them open to enter the grey-painted corridor._

_Emma looked down each end but there was nothing so she turned around to move back into the office._

_And she nearly screamed at what she saw. _

_The office was destroyed; windows shattered, glass and blood littering the floor, bullet casings scattered across the room. But the most disturbing detail were the bodies. Men and women – coworkers – slumped in their office chairs, blood stains like red flowers in their backs staining their white dress shirts._

_Emma held her scream of horror, blue-grey eyes immediately seeking out the familiar faces of her team. But they weren't at their desks; the only empty ones in the entire room of death. Frantic, she ran up the small stairs to the raised level outlining the area and sprinted towards David's office. _

_The plaque on the door that read his name had been punctured by a bullet and a blood smeared hand print made bile rise in her throat. The door squeaked eerily as she prodded it open, preparing herself for what she expected to see. _

_But, when she opened the door, it wasn't her Unit Chief's body that lay across his desk, but Regina's; her black hair half covering her blank and staring face. A pool of crimson blood had settled on the mahogany desk, the papers underneath her motionless body soaked from the body fluid. _

_Emma stepped back out of the room, keeping her gaze anywhere but at the dead woman in David's office. She didn't bother closing the door and thought of the only other place her team would be. _

_The blonde had never been the type of person to pray to deities, but in that moment she whispered affirmations to every single god she knew, her fingers crossed and her breathing increasing its pace. She jogged towards the conference room and all but slammed down the door._

_Emma screamed._

_In the corner of the room, David was propped up against the wall, a large red flower in the centre of his chest, blooming out until the petals touched his sides and lower abdomen. His eyes were closed and there was a deep pink stain running down the wall behind him from where he had slid to a sitting position. _

_Phillip was sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the table, his head lolling back._

_Ruby was on her side, her eyes disturbingly open, her artfully painted face streaked with black from where her mascara had run as she cried. _

_Henry was on the table, his arms splayed out in front of him, his brown hair matted with blood. _

_Emma tried to step forward but her foot nudged something on the floor and her eyes flashed downwards. There was a puddle of red, atop of which a man's body lay sideways. She recognised him immediately, kneeling down as she felt the tears sting her eyes and the lump form painfully in her throat._

"_Killian?" Emma sobbed out, falling onto her knees beside him and staring at the now-dim blue eyes, forever locked into position on some far off thing. _

"_I told you I would never forget you."_

_She turned around on the spot she was kneeling, her blurry vision rising up to meet the brown eyes of the man responsible. She knew he was coming for her. It was her fault. _

Emma nearly fell out of her bed as she sat up abruptly, her hands clenching the sheets at her side. Her breathing was rapid, nearly to the point of hyperventilation and she put a hand on her chest to slow the rapid beating of her heart. A cold sweat covered her body, her hair clinging to the edge of her face.

Panic and adrenaline still coursed through her body and the blonde had to repeat aloud what she knew to be the truth; _it was a nightmare, it was a nightmare, it was a nightmare, it was a nightmare._

Staring around the pale hotel room though, Emma felt the oddest sense of foreboding.

A bang on her door made the woman jump and she took notice of the time; it was six o'clock.

She jumped out of the bed and moved straight for the door. Emma caught sight of herself in the small mirror beside the door before she opened it – and luckily, too. Though she wasn't particularly worried about her appearance, especially in front of her team, the face in the mirror was positively distraught. So rather than open the door – because not even her façade could cover up the visible horror still fixed in her eyes – Emma looked through the peephole.

Henry's familiar face welcomed her and he rocked on the balls of his feet as he waited. She smiled tightly despite the fact he couldn't see her, a strange feeling of relief washing over her at seeing him alive and well. She reminded herself again wordlessly, _it was a nightmare._

"Yeah?" she called through the door, keeping an eye on the little looking glass in the wooden surface.

He frowned; evidently surprised that she was refusing to open the door.

Henry shrugged, "We're leaving soon – are you ready to get back to the office?"

Emma sighed, "Yeah. I'll be ready in a minute."

8888

Emma never knew what to do when people cried in front of her; every sentiment always felt so awkward and rehearsed, like a soap opera and she was just waiting for the cameramen to call 'cut.' She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, looking at David who apparently sympathized deeply with the couple on the opposite side of the interview table. His eyes were soft and he waited patiently for them to compose themselves.

Finally, they did and Emma waited for David to speak first since he obviously had a greater connection with them. She wondered why Henry or Phillip hadn't been asked to accompany him in the interview – they were much softer personalities and would definitely have had some kind of inkling what would be the most comforting - compared to Emma, who sat stiff in the chair, her eyes glancing between her superior and the two sobbing parents.

It wasn't that she didn't feel bad for them because she honestly did. The fact of that matter was that Emma's aptitude for showcasing her feelings in order to connect with people mainly existed on a superficial level – an ability she primarily utilised during interviews with prospective perps.

"I'm terribly sorry for your loss, Mr and Mrs Forderdale, but we need to ask you a few questions," David announced softly. Emma found herself envying his ability to coherently and compassionately ask of these people what she had failed so miserably to do all morning. It was the third couple they'd spoken to that morning – the first two having occurred over video-chat since the couples had been travelling across the country.

Mr and Mrs Forderdale were the parents of Lisa Forderdale-Mint, the third female victim. She had only just gotten married and, from what they knew from previous statements, she and her husband had been coming up to Chicago from Columbia to visit. The mother, an older woman with soft brown eyes and chestnut brown hair, was having trouble stuttering an answer as her balding husband held her close to his side.

"O-o-okay," she hiccupped as she nodded.

David nodded in reply, turning to Emma. She tried to put on as much a compassionate façade as she could manage, smiling tightly at them and putting her hands in front of her on the table.

"We just need to know – did your daughter or son-in-law have any enemies?" she asked, the preliminary question that always needed answering. Both parents nodded fervently.

"No, e-e-everybody loved L-Lisa and Jason."

Emma nodded, "Okay, so did they give either of you a detailed plan of how they were going to get up here? A map or even a description of where they might stop off?"

"I told her to take route 55 to be safe," Mr Forderdale mumbled gruffly, his eyes downcast. His wife held the hand on her waist reassuringly, squeezing it gently.

"She – she didn't say where they'd be stopping off but I think she would have. Lisa was a-always bad with long trips," Mrs Forderdale added.

Emma felt an ineffable feeling of pity sweep over her at the news; route 55 was the common link between all of the couples. Had the young couple never taken the path suggested by the woman's parents, they may never have ended up in the morgue. They might've been in some café speaking happily with the people in front of Emma – perhaps in an alternative universe they were.

Nevertheless, the blonde didn't feel the need to express their unknowing role in their daughter's demise.

"Was Jason the sort of person to get into confrontations often?"

Mr Forderdale shook his head ardently, "No – it was one of the reasons I was so happy she married him. After all the losers she dated, it was nice for her to settle down with a nice guy..."

Tears glistened in the man's eyes and, though his exterior broadcasted an aura of toughness, she could see the pain as sure as if he was beaten and bloodied.

"Alright, I'll be right back," Emma said, standing up and leaving David to finish the questioning – she wouldn't be back. But what else could she say? _"I'm leaving now because I'm uncomfortable, I have no other questions I want answered and I need to try to figure out how this killer got your daughter and her husband because your information has given me shit all to work with. Thank you."_

She left the room, entering the hectic office and taking a deep breath. Emma walked briskly to the room they had set up, entering and walking straight to the board about the couples. She picked up the marker and scribbled down the information she had been given. She took a step back to survey her work just as Henry sidled up to her, eyes scanning over the board and registering the information within the space of a second.

"So," Emma said, "somewhere along route 55 these couples are somehow being taken and we still don't know how they're being subdued?"

"Nope – drug test came back negative," Henry replied.

"Damn," she sighed.

"I think David was going to get Phillip to deliver the profile to the police precinct soon – they need to know what to look for even if we can't tell the general public."

"I don't see the point. We've got nothing."

"Don't be so negative, statistics show that the clearance rate for murder is 61.2%, leaving 38.8% currently unsolved. And specifically for our team, over 93.5% of our cases get solved. Don't fret," he said, patting Emma on the back. But his reassurances fell on deaf ears and she stayed looking at the board, shaking her head at their utter lack of progress.

"Emma, are you okay?" Henry's voice asked tentatively, and it reminded Emma of a child dipping its toe into water to detect the temperature. She restrained the urge to snap back a sarcastic retort as she would have with Killian or anyone else for that matter and simply turned to him with a tight and insincere smile.

"I'm fine – just tired."

* * *

**Reviews are demands for shirtless/wet (or possibly both) Killian.**


	4. Chapter 4

**You should all know that you'll be getting what you asked for - but keep in mind I never alluded as to _how_ you would get it. Either way, I think I make up for what it lacks with the eventual topics. I actually enjoyed writing this so much (and for those of you who read this and think 'what the hell is she doing?' I have never written crime before. Don't judge.)**

* * *

After a full day of reconnaissance, Killian was buggered. They all were as they trudged to their respective rooms in the motel, shoulders slumped as they walked. Henry looked like he was about to pass out on the spot and Phillip wasn't far behind. Meanwhile, Emma kept her back straight but there was a lacework of exhaustion beneath her blue irises.

He watched in his peripheral vision as she entered her room, all but falling through the door.

As Killian followed David into their room, he let himself drop onto the bed in almost exactly the same way he had the night before. Only this time, it was around eleven o'clock as they entered their rooms like dead men walking. Outside the sky was black, illuminated only by a spattering of stars.

David landed on the other double bed, sitting on the edge and opening up his suitcase. The younger of the two forced himself up with tired limbs, into a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

"I still don't get it."

"What?"

"Why the un-sub's attacking _couples_," Killian huffed impatiently, "it doesn't make sense."

David turned a stern eye on the younger man, "Let it go for now – if you keep thinking about it you won't be able to sleep and you'll get no work done tomorrow."

He nodded though he could still feel the clogs turning in his head as he tried desperately to process all the information they had received that day. As it turned out, David would be the one to speak next, his voice conveying his curiosity as he pulled off his shoes.

"What happened between you and Emma yesterday morning?"

Killian paused, watching the Unit Chief carefully.

"Have you not spoken to Emma?"

"I have, but she didn't tell me what happened," he replied, scrutinising the man still sitting on the bed opposite him.

Killian scratched the back of his head, his mind abandoning the need to interpret the case evidence. He wondered if he should express his concerns to David – perhaps _he_ could get through to Emma. He opened his mouth to speak, fully intending to reveal the reality of their spat when some internal force involuntarily made him reconsidered his words.

"We were just arguing because she wants me to stop throwing around innuendos on cases," he lied effortlessly, his expression unchanging even though his mind had gone through several options of approach.

Killian realised it would only be detrimental to reiterate his worries to their Unit Chief for numerous reasons. Firstly, because Emma would be livid when (not if) she found out because David would most definitely seek her out and she would know immediately that her partner was to blame. Secondly, because it would not perturb her in the slightest if her superior became involved, it would only incense her – if Emma was hell-bent on keeping her business to herself than no amount of interference from David was about to change that. If anything, that would worsen Killian's chances of divulging the truth and aiding her accordingly.

And thirdly, Killian felt the need to maintain Emma's trust. She hadn't explicitly demanded he keep the truth of their argument a secret – in fact, they hadn't properly discussed it – but it was an unspoken agreement. There were only so few things she actually allowed Killian to know about her and even fewer still when it came to situations in which she trusted him. But their partnership was void if they couldn't sort out their conflict internally.

So, it was best not to get David involved.

He apparently believed the answer because he smirked and shook his head, "She has a point, you know. Sometimes I can imagine it might be irritating to be on a case and have someone whispering insinuations in your ear at every opportunity," he said.

Killian raised an eyebrow, "You wouldn't be jealous, David? You know you're the only blonde for me."

"Haw haw," the man retorted sardonically, pulling his mobile phone out of his pocket, "I'll be on the phone to Mary Margaret."

"Tell her she needs to stop texting me while you're in the room, would you?"

David levelled him with an unyielding gaze that lacked antagonism, tipping his head down towards Killian who smirked. He shook his head and, with that, got up and moved to stand outside on the balcony. Killian watched the soft white curtains dance in the breeze for a second; unsure of what he wanted to do, before lifting himself up off the bed and walking to the bathroom. After the door had closed behind him, he stripped off his red shirt and black leather jacket and then his jeans.

He stepped into the shower, turned on the hot water and let it wash away the grievances of the day. The irritation of not knowing what the un-sub wanted spilled onto the floor and down the drain, followed by the indignation of not having Emma's trust. He took a deep breath of the steamy air, running a hand through his sodden black hair and exhaling; the pool of concern for his partner seemingly irremovable from his gut.

She was hiding something and, whatever it was, it had her on edge.

He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cool white tiles that climbed up the shower walls. He would find out what had her so worried, and he would help her – she might hate him for intruding, he might lose some of the hard-earned trust but at the end of the day, he would keep her safe.

He'd already made the mistake of staying uninvolved once in his life. And he wasn't about to make the same mistake twice. Not again. Not with Emma.

He felt his hand twitch as images flooded his mind of a dark-haired woman, shaking in his arms as a pool of red formed around them. Killian told himself to block them out, to ignore the pain that crept up on him like vines latching onto an old, derelict building. And even though he knew he would berate himself for doing so, he looked down at his left hand.

A barely visible pale pink line rand from just under the knuckle of his middle finger about two and a half inches down towards his wrist. The skin there was puckered just enough for someone to deduce a previous injury, though they would never know the internal scars it harboured.

His gaze drifted from his left hand now clenched tightly into a fist, up his muscled arm towards his chest. The vast majority of scars that spattered his muscled chest were from his days on the job – getting shot more often than not was kind of a part of the deal you made when you took on the badge and gun. There was one line, just above his right pelvis bone, that hadn't been made on the job. And, like his hand, it triggered the hatred to manifest within his heart like a disease.

A man with thinning brown hair and a perverted smile leered at him in his mind's eye and Killian had to quell the urge to growl. If only he knew where that man was – but the truth was, he'd been invisible for nearly a decade and it was likely to stay that way.

But when he did – when the monster finally showed its face, the depraved sense of humour would be extinguished and Killian would not rest until the muddy brown eyes were devoid of life.

This he promised himself as the boiling water slid down his bare body and into the drain.

8888

"Have you gotten the email about the gala yet?" Phillip asked, looking up from the file in his hands. Killian shrugged and tossed the manila folder he had been perusing back on the table. He raised an incredulous eyebrow at their psychology expert.

"You're asking if I know about an opportunity to see the women we work with in dresses?"

Phillip nodded with false shame, "Of course, how could I expect any less?"

"Are you taking anyone?" Killian inquired with a smirk, leaning against the table and folding his arms across his chest. He fixed the young man with an attentive stare, watching as a blush crept up on his pale cheeks. Phillip kept his eyes glued to the paper he was 'reading,' and the other agent chuckled.

"Who is she?"

"No one," he replied instantly – too quickly.

"Come on!" the other pleaded, looking affirmatively wounded that his friend might keep such details hidden.

Phillip looked up and, with a crooked smile, said, "Do you remember the M.E that helped us with our last case?"

"_Aurora_?" Killian asked with a raised eyebrow, recalling in his mind a mental image of the petite woman with curly chestnut brown hair and long-lashed eyes. She was fairly pretty to say the least, but much too frilly for his tastes – though the fact she was employed in a morgue probably worked in her favour. That much meant two things: she was intelligent and she had a strong stomach.

So he could see the appeal, but his tastes differed greatly from the man opposite him. For example, where a mild-mannered girl might beguile Phillip, it was the defiant challenging women that caught Killian's attention.

"Yeah, what's wrong with her?" Phillip replied defensively, lowering the folder to look at Killian.

He shook his head, "Nothing, nothing – just surprised is all. I didn't see you talking to her after we got the information from the morgue."

The man's eyes flitted down bashfully, "I... um, well – I actually saw her after the case to thank her and… we kind of hit it off."

Killian grinned, "You sly dog."

"What about you? Are you taking anyone?" Phillip asked, genuinely curious.

He shook his head in return, "Nah, I'm a one-man wolf-pack."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, I did just use that quote."

"You're a child," Phillip laughed and shook his head, muttering good-naturedly about Killian's irredeemable immaturity when David opened the door and stayed in the archway as he spoke.

"Phillip – I think it's time we give the precinct a statement," he announced, motioning his head back towards the large room where people were starting to settle down into their desks as Sally walked around setting up an audience for the team.

David walked out then, leaving the door open as he walked to the front of the large room. Killian took a step back and motioned for Emma to go first with an elegant flourish of his arm. The blonde raised her eyebrows in silent question to which he smiled and winked.

"Ladies first."

She rolled her eyes but walked past him, following Henry and Phillip out of the room. They all walked to the front of the room, standing in a line as they waited for the room to fall silent. When there was no longer the sound of idle chit-chat, Sally nodded at David who looked at Phillip to begin.

Phillip took a deep breath before speaking in his melodic British voice, the same one that many a woman had swooned at in their time as teammates on the BAU. In fact, it was an incredibly amusing sight to behold – Phillip noting the reactions of other women, especially since the poor guy was so bloody modest that he never knew how to react to the attention. Killian often wished he had a camera to capture the moments.

"We're looking for a middle-aged male of Caucasian descent who has a history of animal abuse and assault though he may not have been charged so it's likely he was either a suspect or aided the investigation. He also suffered past abuse at the hands of a female which made him into a malignant misogynist and sexual sadist –"

"How do you know it's a male?" a dark-haired man at the back of the room asked, looking slightly offended by what he thought was a sexist assumption.

Emma chose to speak up, "Because the un-sub is subduing two adult individuals and getting away with it. Also because females don't typically utilise such messy methods of murder – these couples were _beaten_ to death before they were put in their cars."

"Exactly, so this guy isn't afraid to get his hands dirty but he's also meticulously clean because there's been no DNA on the bodies or their vehicles," Henry added.

"These couples are being taken somewhere before, after or along route 55 but they're credit history states that there's no transactions in this area so look into establishments along that stretch that only take cash," Killian said, "We've also checked all the gas stations so you can rule them out."

"The un-sub thinks he's still in the clear so he won't be changing his style anytime soon so keep patrols on roads that are prone to accidents around this area," David explained, "Thank you."

With that, he walked unceremoniously back to the room. The other officers in the station, noticing that the exit of the Unit Chief meant the briefing had finished, went back to their work and some stood up to walk to the printers and each other's desks. Henry and Phillip trailed after David and Killian was about to as well when he noticed Emma looking down at her pocket. She pulled out her phone and he recognised the look of fleeting apprehension that crossed her face.

The blonde looked up just as he turned away and headed back to the room. However, as soon as he walked in and closed the door, he turned around to watch her through the glass wall, his view only barely impeded by the blinds covering the transparent barrier. She kept her expression indifferent, though he could see the anxiety laced underneath as she began to speak to the person on the phone. As the conversation continued, Emma tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ears, her stormy eyes flashing as her mouth set in an unfavourable grimace. Whatever the person on the end of the line was saying, it was pissing her off a lot.

She scanned the desks around her momentarily, checking to see that the police officers were still occupied by their work. Satisfied that the people around her weren't listening, she continued talking.

After a long moment, something obviously cut her off because she stopped speaking for a good minute and Killian wouldn't deny he was intensely curious as to what could possibly get her to shut her mouth for such an extended moment when she'd clearly been on the verge of yelling just seconds ago. Suddenly, Emma's mouth went slack as her eyes glazed over and she appeared to be lost in some memory.

Concern began to pool deep in the pits of Killian's stomach as he observed her open display of emotion. It was the first indicator that something was very wrong; Emma despised advertising her sentiments to the world, professionalism her life-long maxim. Her eyes focused again and, like she'd been cracked with a whip, her composure snapped back into place.

With one last word to the person on the phone, Emma hung up and began walking towards the door to their office. Killian watched as she opened the door and her blue-grey stare immediately met his, and it was as if she _knew_ he'd been watching. A multitude of emotions passed through her eyes; apprehension, suspicion, indignation. And then her armour slipped into place and the deceptively tense moment ended.

Killian turned back to face the large majority of the room, the concern solidifying in his stomach as she walked to consult with David over what he presumed was the case, because if she wasn't letting Killian in, she wasn't letting anyone in.

He walked to sit down at the large circular table and began rubbing his temples, attempting to focus his thoughts on the case because knowing his partner was anxious about something sure was distracting. It was only when David approached that he opened his eyes to look at his superior.

"Anything new?" he asked David who shook his head.

"We're still trying to sort out how he's subduing these victims, where he's finding them and why he's attacking couples."

"Bloody hell," Killian replied, rubbing his forehead angrily. It was starting to attack his nerves, the fact they couldn't place these three simple facts. They were the best fucking BAU in America and they couldn't catch this depraved perp – more so than that, there would probably be a new pair of bodies in the morgue any minute now.

Henry moved towards them and sat down in the chair next to Killian, interlocking his fingers in his lap.

"What's going on?" he inquired innocently.

"Just trying to sort out this case," David answered before the other man could curse.

The youngest of the three men nodded in consideration, "Yeah – I just feel like we're missing something."

"You could say that again," Killian muttered irritably, glaring at the table. Just then, his stomach rumbled rather loudly and he realised he hadn't eaten breakfast that morning, substituting it with coffee instead. His hunger was probably a contributor to his narkiness and he turned to David who had raised an eyebrow at the very audible sound.

"Hungry?" the older man asked, obviously entertained.

"Very. Would you mind if I went out to get something?"

"Sure, but if you could bring some back for –"

"_I've got it!_" Henry's voice interrupted them, his eyes wide with some kind of epiphany. The young man ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head marginally and staring into space, "I don't know how I missed it – it was so obvious!"

"What?" Killian and David said in unison. Emma and Phillip had started walking over to their little trio as well, having heard and been alarmed by Henry's sudden outburst. The former put a hand on Henry's shoulder carefully, looking slightly concerned.

"You okay, kid?" she asked, watching as he stood up and shook off her hand to walk towards the boards displaying the information about the couples. He pulled off the sheets on the bottom with the M.E's reports and flicked through them as if checking for something. In only a moment he had gone through each one and slammed them on the table as the team looked on with alarm.

"All of the couples' last meals contained deep-fried foods that were almost exactly the same in fat content and three of the victims had eaten the _exact_ same thing before they died."

There was silence as the team tried to piece together what he was saying. Henry sighed emphatically, motioning over his shoulder at the board.

"They're all stopping off at the same _restaurant_!"

There was a collective 'ah' as some of the puzzle pieces clicked into place. It still didn't explain how they were being subdued or why he was selecting couples but it gave them something to work with, and it was as if their engines had been kick-started. David was quickly instructing them.

"Killian, get Ruby to pull up all the restaurants along route 55, narrow it down to establishments that allow cash and are open late. Also make sure she checks the menus have all the foods that these couples last ate – go through the M.E's report for that. Phillip and Henry, adjust the profile to this information. Emma, work with Killian on isolating the restaurant. I'll talk to Sally to see if she has anything that might help in the way of past cases."

They nodded and Killian pulled out his phone to call the tech analyst.

"He who seeks the Queen of All Knowledge, speak and be recognized," Ruby answered in a voice that hinted at unmatched grandeur. He smiled.

"I need you to find me all the restaurants along route 55."

She scoffed, her fingers tapping away in the background, "Haven't we discussed this; _challenges, _Killy, _challenges_."

"Did you just call me Killy?"

"Do you have a problem with that?" she countered without missing a beat. He grinned and pursed his lips, swapping the phone to his other ear.

"That sounds like a dwarf's name. I am not a dwarf."

"Fine, you win for now. I have 132 eating establishments – give me some standards."

Killian closed his eyes, thinking about what the couples would have looked for in a stopping-point.

"Cash payment and late if not all-night hours," he said, opening his eyes and waiting for her to respond. There was some clicking on the other end of the phone and a brief moment of pause as she probably read through the results.

"I have 36 – give me something else to work with big boy."

"Okay, narrow it down to ones with generally good reviews."

"I have 17."

He walked over to where Henry had slammed down the medical examiner's reports and picked them up, flicking to the pages he needed.

"The menu must have fries, beef and cheese burgers, onion rings, diet coke, coffee and some kind of chicken and gravy item?"

"Six."

He cocked his head to the side in thought and looked at Emma who was leaning on the edge of the table across from him. She silently asked what was up and he mouthed 'six restaurants,' to request her input. She shrugged and reached over to pick up the sedan keys. She mouthed back, 'we can check them out.' In other words, she didn't have any other criteria to add.

He turned his attention back to the conversation with Ruby.

"Can you send me that list?"

"Already have."

"As per usual, your brilliance leaves me wordless. I'll talk to you later."

She chuckled, "By later, you mean the next time you need something. I feel like I should be incensed by your treatment but I find it oddly empowering." It was his turn to laugh and Emma gave him a look that screamed her impatience – lass wasn't known for her tolerance. He rolled his eyes and swivelled his chair to face away from the blonde.

"Bye Ruby."

"Bye Killy."

"Ruby –"

But she had already hung up and he shook his head hopelessly, albeit smiling at the woman's ability to annoy him and amuse him all with two words. He turned back in the chair to find his partner staring at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Can we go now?" she asked with a dramatic sigh. Killian smirked and stood up, tucking the phone in his pocket and walking past her to the door. He stopped in the archway to turn around and address the team, Emma already walking up to join him.

"We've got a couple of leads – Emma and I will get some samples of the food from each place, bring it back and see what we can find."

Henry frowned in confusion, as did Emma and the rest of the team.

"How will you be sure that the perp will try to spike your food – if that's even how he's doing it?" the youngest man asked. Killian checked the time and sure enough it was late afternoon and would soon be dark. He glanced at Emma and his grin spoke of mischief before he'd even opened his mouth to talk and the woman's shoulders dropped, her expression conveying that she already regretted the decision to accompany him.

He looked back up at Henry, "Because he'll think we're prospective victims."

8888

"I hate you," Emma muttered through clenched teeth, or rather through her broad and very much forced smile. She looked up at Killian beside her, his arm wrapped around her waist as the little golden bell above the door tinkled delicately to signal their entry into the last restaurant on their list.

He grinned down at her, genuinely enjoying their little scouting mission, and pinched her side affectionately so she jumped at the contact.

"Love you too, honey," he said, leaning closer to whisper it in her ear before giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek.

She held his eyes and while the rest of the world saw a doting wife, Killian could see that she was already concocting a revenge that would bring him to his knees, her head shaking from side to side marginally.

They walked arm in arm through the mostly empty establishment to the front counter. A soft-haired woman emerged from the kitchens with an obligatory grin.

"Hi, how may I help you?" she asked brightly.

Killian looked down at Emma, whose own arm was snaked around his side. It felt nice to have her so docile, compared to the only other time she had her arms wrapped around him – when they were sparring and she was about to throw him down.

"Table for two please."

The blonde nodded in agreement, turning her smile to the lady. He smirked and let his hand drift down her side, lower than she probably thought necessary. However, the moment he did, his foot was being silently crushed under the heel of her boot and it was surprisingly painful, making it doubly difficult to keep his expression neutral.

The woman behind the counter indicated to the open area behind them.

"Take a seat and we'll be with you in a minute," she said.

They turned around and Emma let her façade drop so she could glare at Killian. His smirk deepened as he ignored her blatant show of dislike, his hand resting on her lower back as he propelled her towards a booth in the back corner.

They sat down beside each other and the blonde was forced to reinforce her act.

"If your hand wanders past my waist again, I will personally see to it being removed. Got it?" Emma hissed through a happily unconcentrated veneer, looking out the window as though she were unaware of her 'husband' whose hand was still secured around her waist. Killian chuckled and looked around the diner – it was one of those retro-style ones, with diamond patterned tiles scaling half the wall, large red cushioned booths and neon lighting.

"Personally, I love my job," he retorted, studying the fingernails on his free hand as though they were the most fascinating things in the room. She narrowed her eyes at him and he met her cool stare with evident mirth.

"Love, you might want to drop the sour face – our waiter is approaching," he said, nodding in the direction of the man coming towards their table. He held two red, leather-bound menus, his black tousled hair tucked behind his ears. The waiter smiled at them, a genuine smile too, and put the two lists on the table in front of them.

"Bit late for a snack, don't you think?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, glancing between Killian and Emma.

His partner grinned winningly, "Eugene likes to travel late."

_Eugene? _

_Are you fucking kidding me?_

He saw as she glimpsed at his expression with an air of satisfaction, but two could play that game.

"Well, Beatrice, it's not my fault – I just don't like driving with your constant commentary to keep me company."

Emma's head snapped towards him, her eyes widening fractionally as if to ask: _you want to play this game?_

He smiled and cocked his head to the side, tapping her on the nose in what would be seen by others as an affectionate gesture. But for Emma? She hated it and he could see the restraint it required not to grab his hand and twist it into an unnatural shape. The waiter frowned, a smile tugging at his lips as he observed the couple in front of him.

"Oh, you're just whinging because you're still snippy that I get a bigger pay-check than you," she complained, eyeing the waiter with a sympathetic look as though her partner were the worst person to live with – which he wasn't, not that she had ever actually stayed with him.

Killian raised his eyebrows, "That may be true but I'm still more _important_ in my job."

She kicked him under the table and he grunted briefly under his breath at the pain that blossomed in his shin. Her lips formed a thin smile and she turned to the waiter and spoke conspiratorially, "He's just saying that because he's been having… ahem… intimate problems."

_She did not._

_Oh, but she did._

His jaw almost dropped at the implication of her words and the waiter blushed a deep shade of red, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. Clearly satisfied, Emma picked up the menu and began to read through it as Killian shook his head, trying to hide a smirk because she had just gone there. And he would not forget it.

"You two been married long?" the waiter asked, clearly trying to remedy the awkwardness that was almost palpable in the air. Killian tore his gaze away from the blonde, whose eyes were focused intently on the list of meals in her hands.

"A little while," he said, bringing his hand up and wiggling the fingers to show off the gold band that rested on his ring finger. His tone held finality and, without explicitly saying it, commanded the young man to give them privacy. He shuffled away to wait at the counter, watching the window with a bored expression on his face. As soon as he was out of earshot, Killian fixed his icy blue eyes on Emma who continued with her apparent perusal of the menu, too preoccupied to notice his stare.

"Eugene? _Really_?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and lifting his own menu.

She levelled him with an equally incredulous gaze, "Beatrice? _Really?_"

"You started it."

"I wasn't the one who tried to get some grab-ass."

"You inferred impotency. That's crossing the line, love."

"Not if it's true," she retorted with an elegantly raised eyebrow.

"I could probably prove to you that it's not true, but I doubt you'd put your money where your mouth is," he retorted, tilting his head closer to hers so he could whisper the words in her ear. She didn't reply, her stony front impassive and unbreakable even as he threw the suggestive comment at her.

He turned back to his menu, finding a suitable meal and laying down the red document. He waited for her to do the same and when she did, she slowly lifted her eyes to his.

"So_, tell me_ – have you seen anyone of interest so far?" he asked, returning their conversation to work-related subjects. She folded her arms and leaned back in the soft booth, unwittingly leaning in to him since his arm had made its way back around her waist.

She shook her head minutely, "Nope – but then, our guy isn't going to show the typical signs. He's become adept at hiding it so even I might have trouble spotting him."

Killian nodded appreciatively and the waiter, having seen them conversing civilly again, started walking towards them. He pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. The two agents gave him their orders and he smiled, telling them that it wouldn't be too long before bustling away to help prepare their meal. Emma watched him go and turned back to her partner.

"Just saying, but if we were ever married I would definitely have the bigger pay-check."

Killian smiled, "You think about marrying me often, Swan?"

She sneered at him and he laughed, though he could swear he saw a small smile tug at the corners of her lips for a fleeting moment before she composed herself. Because to convey emotion around this Irish bastard was an unforgivable sin and God forbid they actually enjoy each other's company.

"I _am_ kind of hungry, you know," she commented eventually, a statement that was swiftly punctuated by the sound of her stomach growling angrily. They had been to five other restaurants but they were yet to eat – just in case they happened to sample food that was tainted by their killer.

They had spent the evening ordering meals and then asking to take them to-go under some bogus urgent pretence. In each restaurant they made sure to make it very obvious that they were "married" and on a road trip so they would fit the killers M.O. They were taking the food back to be sampled, simultaneously attempting to work out the method of subdual and common link between the couples.

Phillip had initially expressed concern when Killian had relayed the idea, saying something along the lines of 'putting themselves in the line of fire' and 'reckless behaviour.' Even David had scoffed at the notion, reminding their psychology expert that for one, Emma and Killian were two fully capable agents without handguns; and secondly that Emma and Killian would _have_ their handguns. So, it was a _very_ unlikely chance that the killer would get the drop on the both of them.

Nevertheless, the fact remained: they hadn't eaten in a very long time and even Killian had to admit his stomach was beginning to hurt with the lack of actual contents.

"We should pick something up on the way back to the office – in the city so we don't accidentally stumble onto our killer's nest," he said, his nose itching as he smelt their food being prepared. It was a slow torture to watch as genuinely nice looking meals came out and were placed in front of them, unable to touch them without risking the ingestion of some unknown drug.

"Agreed," Emma replied.

He looked at her with what could only be described as astonishment and she shrugged, "What?"

"Are you feeling well?"

She shook her head as he placed a wary hand to her forehead, "What are you talking about?"

"You just agreed with me, Swan. You _never_ agree with me." Her expression deadpanned as his lit up with amusement. She smacked him over the back of the head, inadvertently inching his face just a little closer to hers. She narrowed her eyes as his twinkled with delight and he glanced down at her lips briefly.

"You know, love, the waiter mightn't be convinced yet that we're a married couple? Best to make sure he well and truly knows," Killian said, leaning closer. The blonde automatically tilted herself back, avoiding him and putting a hand on his chest to halt him.

Killian pouted and she pointed to where the waiter was now approaching with food. He sighed emphatically, straightening into a better position to 'eat' their food. The man placed down the ceramic plates with a nod and a smile before leaving them to their own devices. The smell of their freshly cooked meal wafted from the plates in tufts of steam.

Killian and Emma shared a pained look at the tantalising food that they were not allowed to eat.

She sighed, "This kind of sucks."

He nodded in agreement before pretending that his phone had started ringing, pulling it out and sliding out of the booth before answering. His eyes widened in horror and Emma responded accordingly, gesticulating as if she were curious as to the subject matter. He shushed her and continued his one-sided conversation. If you asked him, he'd missed his calling as an actor.

He put down the phone and looked back at Emma, "We have to go. Mom's had a stroke."

Emma gasped and stood up, sliding out of the booth and walking past Killian to signal the waiter. He jogged over when he noticed the anxious expression on both individual's faces and quickly questioned what was wrong.

"Can we get this to go? My husband's mother's had a stroke and we need to get going – now," she explained, pointing behind her to Killian.

The waiter's eyes glanced between them sporadically, his lip quivering for a second as panic flickered in his eyes.

"Oh, o-okay. Sure – I'll just get you guys some boxes to take it away," he said and Killian watched in surprise as Emma's hand twitched towards her lower back where her gun was carefully stored. He kept his eyes on her as the harried waiter retreated into the kitchen to find something for their meal. She stayed facing away and Killian cleared his throat to get her attention.

She whipped around, "He's panicking. Why would a waiter panic if he saw two people wanting to leave especially if they had a viable excuse?"

He frowned and shook his head, shrugging, "I don't know – maybe he's worried for my 'mom?'"

"No. There's a very big difference between panic and worry – one is born from human compassion, the other is generally a preservation instinct reaction."

"Okay," Killian replied slowly, watching as her eyes sparked with something strange. She sighed, massaging the side of her head and dropping her hand.

"I don't know… I'm not convinced."

He studied her carefully; ice meeting the storm as she subconsciously tested his ability to trust her instincts.

"What do you want to do?"

"We can't do anything without proof. We need to get this stuff back to the precinct ASAP."

"Okay."

The male waiter exited the kitchen, two white plastic boxes balanced on his hands as he walked briskly towards them. Emma schooled her features to convey gratefulness but Killian could see the sharp edge to her smile. For all her wit and humour, the blonde was a predator and her prey was criminals. And right now, she had her sights locked onto the dark-haired male spooning their meal into the boxes.

"Thank you so much, I'm really sorry we have to leave so soon," she gushed.

The man shrugged and shook his head bashfully, "It's okay. Just, um – make sure your mom is okay."

"No really," Emma said, placing a hand on his forearm and grasping it firmly, "thank you for being so understanding. I mean, you prepared this meal for us and I feel awful that you don't even get feedback." She looked like a typically overwhelmed woman, caught up in her own dramatic world to the point of exaggerating the small things. He recoiled from her grip, a disgusted turn of his lip appearing and disappearing like a monster momentarily raising its hackles.

His eyes were downcast, "I didn't actually prepare the meal, I just served it."

Emma's hand twitched and he reckoned it was an automatic response to lies. This guy had no idea what he'd gotten himself into.

"We can stay for a minute to try the food can't we?" she asked, scratching her head and turning to Killian who had been observing the exchange with attentive eyes. He put on that he was at war with himself, letting his face convey hesitancy. He bit his lip and sighed in defeat.

"Okay, I guess it wouldn't hurt to stay for a minute. It's not like getting up there five minutes earlier is going to change much right?"

Emma nodded fervently and gave the waiter a brilliant smile, settling back down into the booth on the opposite side to where she had been before and glancing up at Killian who mirrored her movements. But the waiter didn't move, his eyes glued to the blonde for a certifiable moment. Something about the restaurant suddenly felt tense and Killian looked to see if his partner felt the change in atmosphere too.

He should have seen it coming and he later cursed himself for not noticing. The waiters arm had flicked behind and back towards them in one fluid movement, pulling out a 9mm double action stainless revolver and pressing it to Emma's head. How he'd managed to hide it in there without the two agents noticing was a wonder and Killian scolded himself for the blatant idiocy. Nevertheless, his attention was needed on far more important situations at that moment.

For example, the man – who he was now 99% sure was either their un-sub or just your everyday psychopath – holding a gun to his partner's head.

Emma's eyes met Killian's and he wasn't surprised to see no trace of fear; after all, this wasn't exactly the first time they'd had firearms pressed to various body parts. If that scared them, they'd have been forced to buy several pairs of undergarments a day in some cases.

The waiter's incensed glare landed on Emma as he growled, "Why do you have a gun?"

"What?" she answered with faux innocence.

"Don't lie to me, bitch. I saw it when you turned back to your husband – if he even is your husband."

_Well, shit._ Killian remembered her scratching her head as she turned to him and realised that her jacket would have ridden up with the movement, giving the waiter a fleeting glance at the outline of a small revolver tucked beneath her shirt there. Such a silly thing was now unlacing the bonds holding this situation together, like a surfactant in water.

Emma looked at Killian again and in that moment they had a decision; they could continue trying to maintain the façade or reveal their true identities. He mentally tallied their chances with each option in a split second.

This guy hated women so no matter what, the blonde was caught in his crosshairs. They still didn't understand his hatred for men but it had something to do with husbands specifically. His current temperament meant he was on-edge, though it didn't detract from the downright arrogance he felt with a weapon in his hands. If he believed they were trying to fool him, it would only anger him.

Truth it was.

When Killian nodded, Emma got the wordless message.

"You're right. He's not my husband – we work in a behavioural analysis unit."

The man's eyes widened in shock momentarily and he looked between the two agents, "Why are you here? How did you… why are you here?" He sniffed angrily, pushing the gun against Emma's temple. She winced at the bruise that was sure to blossom there and Killian's fingers itched ever-so-slightly towards his own gun.

"We've been following your case," she replied smoothly, not even flinching when he put his other hand on her shoulder and yanked her closer to him. He turned to Killian, gun still on Emma as he demanded affirmation.

"Is that true?"

He nodded, "We've been collecting samples of food to determine which restaurant it was and how you were doing it. Our colleagues know we're here."

There was a pause where he seemed to consider his own options.

"Well at least I'll have a head start," he said, pulling back the safety on the gun with a loud click. But Emma was quicker than that, shoving his hand and the gun away from her so that when the bang went off, the bullet lodged into the table. Killian stood up, pulling his own firearm out from where it had been tucked into the back of his pants and aiming at the man.

The waiter stepped back before Emma could apprehend him, pulling the gun on her and flicking between the both of them. The blonde slid slowly out of the counter to stand beside Killian and they both stared the un-sub down. His expression was furious and, surprisingly, his hands were not trembling as most un-subs' did.

"Stay back or I'll shoot," he warned, walking backwards towards the kitchen doors.

"You can still come out of this alive, you know. If you put the gun down," Emma said calmly, appealing to his survival instincts.

He shook his head and barked out a maniacal laugh, "Yeah right. You're lying – it's what you whores and bitches do."

Killian shifted ever so slightly on the spot, moving so his body was primarily in front of hers since she didn't yet have her weapon drawn. But any sudden movements and the guy might pull his trigger, and they had elected not to wear bullet-proof vests this evening because it was only supposed to be gathering evidence.

So much for that.

The man narrowed his eyes between the two of them and then: _BANG!_

"_Sonuvabitch_," he heard Emma mutter harshly behind him. It took him less than a moment to realise the waiter had pulled the trigger and was quickly backing away towards the kitchen with his gun still raised. But as Emma's hisses ran through his head, Killian let the man move through the door and waited until he was out of sight to lower his gun, quickly turning to his partner. She held her side and blood seeped through a wound that lay there.

The sound of feet scuffling on tiles made Killian turn back to where the un-sub was probably sprinting through the kitchens. He returned his attention to Emma, who was grimacing in pain but found it within herself to fix him with a stern stare. She didn't even need to speak, simply nodding after the un-sub and pulling out her phone with her good hand. He quickly directed her to a seat and, after one last meaningful look, began sprinting behind the counter.

There was a clatter of metal as pots and pans fell and a woman's cry of protest. As he burst into the kitchens, he saw that the woman who had greeted them was on the floor, having been tossed aside by the waiter like a chess piece. There was a door at the end of the small room and it hung open, prompting Killian to follow the same path.

The door from the restaurant led into a dark alley that, on its right, led to the lamp-lit street or, on its left, a decrepit looking concrete yard. Loud footfalls came from his left so Killian sprinted headlong towards the darker end of the alley, where he reached a small concrete car-park that was apparently the backlot of numerous brick veneer buildings. A dark silhouette was attempting to jump a wire fence to reach the alley between two of the brick buildings.

Never stopping his momentum, Killian ran at the fence where the man had just swung his leg over the other side. As he hit the wiry surface, it shook violently and there was a grunt as the man fell onto the hard concrete ground on the other side.

Before he could fully recover, Killian scaled the fence and landed on the other side.

The man was just standing up, his gun on the ground beside him where he'd dropped it as he fell. He immediately lunged at Killian and it was like going through the motions with Emma in the gym.

Use opposition's momentum to gain advantage.

Push advantage and discombobulate.

Strike thrice for good measure in nerve-sensitive zones.

When he was on the ground, groaning and sputtering, Killian simply stepped over him and dragged him to a standing position. He pushed him against the brick wall roughly, extracting his handcuffs and restraining the man in one swift motion.

The guy pushed back against Killian and he raised his eyebrows dubiously.

"You're cuffed and you just shot my partner after massacring four couples and you're going to challenge me right now?" he said, gripping him by the scruff of his neck and directing him towards the lamp-lit street. He struggled feebly against the cuffs, every so often attempting to throw Killian off.

"You have no proof," the man spat.

"Except, perhaps, the lovely food you provided me and my _wife_ with. Tell me, did you spike it?"

It was with sudden realisation that the man growled and bucked backwards again. Killian ignored this and, holding onto him, continued directing him out of the alley. He would have to walk the perimeter to reach the Diner's entrance again, since getting the guy over a fence with his hands restrained was impossible.

They were just about to turn right on the corner leading to the street that the diner was on, the flashing lights telling Killian that back-up had arrived. The man in his grip noticed this too and it was as though his energy sky-rocketed. With increased fervour, he rocked against the agent's grip and Killian actually found himself struggling to hold the man.

A misplaced kick to the abdomen and Killian's grip faltered, giving the man the split-second opportunity he needed to run. He cursed violently under his breath, giving chase without a second thought.

The following seconds seemed to occur in slow motion before his eyes.

The man, his hands still cuffed securely behind his back, ran in the opposite direction to the flashing lights. This direction just so happened to cross a road. He had just reached the middle of the street when there was the sound of a car honking its horn.

Killian stopped in his tracks, looking around to find the source of the sound.

The man kept running, ignorant of the warning.

And then, before the un-sub could even react, a truck was trying to break. But it wasn't fast enough, the metal grates slamming into his body and throwing it down the road like a rag doll.

It was poetic justice, really.

* * *

**Sorry for not giving you Emma's reaction to Killian in the shower but I thought their 'married' escapade made up for it. Oh, and I have major feels planned for next chapter.**

**Review? **


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you for being patient - updates might by sparser for a short while (family stuff) and I apologize in advance. It makes me happy to read your reactions so thank you _very_ much. And sorry for shooting Emma. Consider this update my apology.**

**Cudos to Nicole for beta-ing and being generally fantastic (and AMiserableLove25 for making me want to update faster!**

* * *

"I thought you two were supposed to be gathering food samples," David said, a hint of anger in his words.

Emma raised her hands defensively, "It wasn't our intention to get into a situation, David."

The older man shook his head, pointing to the establishment he'd just exited, "Phillip and Henry are processing the scene and taking samples of the food. Killian's giving a statement about what happened to our un-sub and you got shot. Tell me why I shouldn't throttle you?"

"Because there's no one else you'd rather have on your team?" she suggested meekly, wincing when the medic dabbed at her wound with antiseptic. David shook his head and rolled his eyes, turning and leaving to talk to the newly-arrived Sally. She looked up when she heard Killian approaching, letting her eyes flit to their Unit Chief behind him.

"He's pissed."

"Tell me about it," Killian sighed, shaking his head and looking over his shoulder.

"It's not like we walked in _expecting_ to get shot at."

"I know."

"He's just being unreasonable because I got shot."

"Has he kissed it better for you yet?"

Emma opened her mouth to continue speaking before she registered his words and sneered at him, his face lighting up in a smirk. She winced again and Killian's eyes skimmed her wound, grimacing a bit before meeting her stare again.

"How bad does it look?" she asked, flicking some blonde hair absentmindedly from her eyes.

"'Tis but a graze, love," he replied. She rolled her eyes and let her gaze wander behind him, landing on something before hardening. He turned and followed her line of sight to where it ended, on the black body bag that held their un-sub.

"Shame I never got to thank him for shooting me," she hissed, "Have you called Ruby to look into his profile?" Killian nodded and sat down beside her on the edge of the ambulance, looking out at the authorities scattered around the area like ants to sugar.

"His name was Allen Baumer, thirty-three years old. Turns out he was one of the people who 'discovered' the second set of animal remains on the Ryer property. He fits the description from the women who were assaulted but, since he wasn't in the system and he left no DNA, they never caught him… until now."

"Do we know why he was doing it?" Emma asked, frowning and looking at her partner.

He nodded solemnly, "His mother died when he was young and his father remarried soon after. Almost immediately after, he started being admitted to hospital for numerous injuries… it's not ignorant to assume the timing had something to do with the new wife."

"So his step-mother was beating him and his Dad… wasn't doing anything about it?" she queried disbelievingly. Killian shrugged and Emma let the thought stew in her head; it explained his need to attack couples while, at the same time, clarifying the brutal attack on the female counterparts. She shook her head – had no one heard of therapy these days?

They were silent for a moment until the medic's voice drew her attention. The bullet had grazed her side so it was a deep wound but nothing too serious. It would heal up completely in a couple of weeks. She stood up from where she'd been seated, pulling down her singlet and tugging on her jacket, flinching at the flexing of her muscles. Killian stood up as well so the ambulance could treat the woman from the restaurant for shock, and the two dawdled as they made their way to the black sedans.

"Does it piss you off that we did all that for nothing?" Emma suddenly asked, knowing that her partner would understand what she was referring to: all the hours spent trying to isolate their perpetrator.

Many people often incorrectly assumed that seeing a murderer dead might please the men and women who worked the cases. That perhaps there was justice in seeing someone who'd stolen other people's lives suffer the same fate, that there was fairness to it.

But there wasn't – Emma was a strong believer in justice and, for her, that meant making the monsters of the world suffer in prison for as long as possible. Death was such a swift conclusion; it didn't fit that they would never have to suffer the repercussions of their crimes. Because in death, they wouldn't have to confront the effects of their decisions – unless you were religious, which Emma most decidedly was not.

He shrugged, "I don't think it was for nothing. I mean, yeah he's dead but… the families have closure and we know why he did it – even if it doesn't justify it."

She shoved her hands in her pockets, pouting to some extent like a petulant child, "I guess."

Killian abruptly stopped, "Wait." His tone forced Emma to turn and face him, a slither of worry worming its way across her face as she wondered what might have caused him to halt. However, when his lips began to twitch with a barely concealed smile, her mouth pulled into a tight line.

"Did you just agree with me for the second time today?" he asked with faux shock, and it was all she could do not to slap him across the back of the head again.

_Bloody Jones_.

"You're an ass," she retorted, continuing her walk to the car. He quickly fell into step with her again.

"You love it."

"And how, pray tell, did you draw that conclusion?" she countered, turning to him with a raised eyebrow. He gave her a crooked smile, bringing his hand up to wiggle the finger that still held the delicate golden band.

"Because you married me, love."

She rolled her eyes, "I want a divorce."

8888

The next day, while Emma was pulling down photos from the pinboard as the rest of her team cleaned up the small office around her, Sally entered. She held a piece of paper in her hands and placed it triumphantly on the large round table, waiting through a pregnant pause as everyone slowly noticed her presence and turned to her. A brilliant grin was stretched across her face and Emma couldn't help but notice the way she directed it primarily at her partner.

She tapped the piece of paper punctually with her finger, "GHB – results got back this morning."

"Sorry what?" Phillip asked, voicing the question on everyone's mind. The redhead rolled her eyes in amusement, a movement that – for some strange reason – aggravated Emma. She raised her eyebrows, waiting for the woman to explain her strange statement.

"The tox screen on the food came back. There was GHB in it."

Henry sighed knowingly, "Gamma-Hydroxybutyric acid; that explains why nothing was coming up. It metabolizes in six hours," he said, as if everyone had that information stored in their repertoire. A small affectionate smile dusted Emma's lips and she shook her head imperceptibly. Henry looked around the room where he was met by a multitude of dubious stares, including Sally's.

"What?" he shrugged, "Haven't you guys ever read 'The Encyclopaedia of Addictive Drugs' by Richard Lawrence Miller?" There was silence and a few head shakes and he sighed, returning his attention to the whiteboard he had been clearing.

"Anyway," Sally began, drawing back the team's attention – save for Henry who was furiously rubbing the whiteboard in an attempt to remove any remnants of marker (OCD at its finest, ladies and gentlemen) – and running a hand through her flaming hair, "Thank you – from all of us here. We wouldn't have been able to do what you all did. So, thank you."

David smiled warmly, "It's not a problem," and then turned to continue packing up the files.

Emma was about to turn too when she noticed Sally motion to Killian. Emma stayed in position, pretending to survey her work as she kept a keen eye on her partner following the redhead out of the small office. The blonde walked to the edge of the office to watch them through the glass wall. She wasn't above eavesdropping.

When they were in the centre of the office, Sally turned to Killian and grinned winningly. She spoke first, though what about Emma would never be able to discern. She fluttered her eyelashes and swung slightly side-to-side.

_She was flirting._

Emma felt her fists clench and she tried to ignore the swell of emotion that rose in her chest, unable and unwilling to place its origin or meaning. Nevertheless, she kept her eyes on her partner to gage his response but he was facing away from her so she might as well have been trying to gage the reaction of a brick wall.

However, whatever he said was amusing because Sally laughed heartily; putting her hand on his shoulder in what she assumed was supposed to be a light-hearted gesture. In reality, it looked like she was trying to accost him – or perhaps that was Emma's bias coming into the situation.

Sally replied something that made Killian shift his weight, and she looked up at him through her eyelashes. Again, whatever he said was pleasing because she smiled brilliantly and dropped her hand.

"Emma."

"Hm?" she turned away from the window towards David's voice. He was picking up one of the boxes and nodded down towards the other ones that needed to be taken to the sedans.

"Would you mind?"

Ignoring the fact that yes, she did very much mind – couldn't people spy on their partners in privacy anymore? – Emma walked over to where he was and picked up one of the other boxes on the floor. When she stood up she could feel her superior eyeing her strangely and the blonde shifted her weight uncomfortably under the scrutiny. He cocked his head to the side.

"You alright?"

She nodded, "Yeah, no – fine. Just curious about what Sally might want with Jones is all."

David smiled knowingly, "She asked me earlier if he was single so I'd say she's asking him out."

Emma had to physically force her expression to remain neutral; schooling her features into a mask of indifference as she nodded like it was completely understandable. The two of them walked towards the door and just as she was about to put down the box to open it, Killian appeared.

He stepped out of the way immediately and she couldn't help but keep her eyes downcast as she passed him. They walked out into the station and the blonde had no qualms about spying out the redheaded Police Chief who was sitting at her desk with a very broad, very satisfied grin etched on her face.

They quickly reached the elevator and Emma shifted the box in her arms so she could press the button they needed. The familiar feeling of her stomach dropping into her feet told her they were moving and it was only a second before David turned to her, box still in hand, and regarded her curiously.

Her defences went up like a drawbridge being swiftly retracted, "What?"

"Nothing. Just observing."

_Bullshit._

8888

The team were to leave in the morning, and so they had to spend one last night in the hotel. Emma didn't mind, though she knew David wanted to get home sooner – but he couldn't help the fact that their pilot was ill. They were driving back to the hotel, Emma and Killian in one sedan and the remainder of their team in the other, and the blonde was sure she wasn't the only one who felt the tension seep slowly into the vehicle.

She felt unreasonably irritated with her partner, and she couldn't place the root of her indignation – or she was reluctant to place it.

After Emma and David had returned from packing up the boxes, the former couldn't help but notice the way Killian avoided her eyes. She also found herself studying Sally, whose demeanour had considerably brightened (if that was even possible). The redheaded woman sat a little straighter, a small smile constantly threatening to break out on her face, even as she typed at her computer.

Why didn't she just ask Killian about their conversation, you ask?

Pride; it was one of Emma's worst traits and the source of many of her problems. Mixed with her inability to trust and her refusal to request help, it wasn't uncommon that she would find herself in unfavourable situations as a result.

Additionally, her partner would receive an ego-boost from the knowledge that she was curious about his love-life and would unquestionably ensure she never forgot it. And Emma would never willingly give him the upper hand, not when their partnership worked so well _because_ of their equally competitive temperaments. Hell, with them it was a constant struggle for dominance.

"So, are you going to the gala?" Killian asked, shaking Emma out of her reverie.

She shrugged noncommittally, "I'm not sure yet – maybe. You?"

He mirrored her response, "I don't know. I might."

Emma turned to him with a raised eyebrow, "You're thinking about passing on the opportunity to see your co-workers – specifically the women – dressed up? Are you feeling alright?"

Killian cracked a small smile, shaking his head but keeping his eyes on the road, "You know me too well, Swan." He glimpsed her in his peripheral vision and bit his lip.

"You should go to the gala – there'll be a raffle and the beverages are free," he said eventually said.

"You only want me to go so you can see me in a dress," she retorted wryly, a response which prompted him to chuckle faintly. He nodded in amused agreement and cocked his head to the side.

"True, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't go – and hey, you could always bring a friend. Remember we have a plus one?" Killian suggested.

"Are _you_ bringing a friend?" she responded bitterly, powerless to stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth. There was a long pause as Emma internally scolded herself for showing such blatant hostility at the idea that Killian might take Sally. After all, it wasn't like the blonde had any claim to him – they were just BAU partners. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Her internal lie detector shrilled hopelessly at that latter statement.

"No," Killian said, glimpsing Emma's expression before smiling brilliantly, "Why? Do _you_ want to come with me?"

She scoffed and looked out the window, attempting to appear disinterested by focusing on the busy streets of Chicago. Eventually, they pulled into the hotel parking lot and Killian parked the sedan, pulling the keys out of the slot and turning to face his partner. His ice blue eyes burned into her with a mixture of curiosity and exasperation.

"Are you alright?" he asked suddenly, taking Emma off-guard with the genuine concern in his voice. She promptly schooled her features, shrugging nonchalantly as if the question was stupid.

"Fine. Why?"

His eyes narrowed fractionally and she wondered if he'd caught the lie.

Stupid question really – of course he had, he may not have the same ability she did but he could still read her like an open book. It more so was a question of whether he would confront her about the lie or let it go. She hoped for the latter but expected the former.

She was pleasantly surprised.

"Okay," he said, opening the car door and sliding out. Emma mirrored his actions and the two walked towards the hotel lobby.

As they walked, the blonde couldn't help but turn the actions of her partner over in her head. It was completely out of character for him to drop a subject so quickly without a definitive answer. He'd always pressed her for truth and it had resulted in arguments more than once. More so than that, Killian knew how to read her to such an extent that usually he didn't even need to ask her _if_ she was okay, but _what_ was causing her feelings.

For reasons she didn't want to identify, Emma felt oddly disconcerted by the idea that he might not care enough to pursue it anymore.

She inwardly cringed; she sounded like one of those chick-flick heroines who go on about wanting a man to fight for her when she tells them to go away – and then complain when men claim females are too complex. Any minute now and she would be muttering some cliché line about the challenges of love and hardship.

But that wasn't what Emma meant – or at least she was pretty sure it wasn't what she meant. It was irritating when Killian pushed a point and forced her to explain but it was also oddly therapeutic. Every time it happened, though she was sour with him for a period afterwards, it felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

The blonde shook her head ever-so-slightly at her internal contradictions. Perhaps she was bipolar.

Eventually, she reached her hotel room and entered without another glance in her partner's direction. Emma headed straight for the shower, pulling her blonde curls up into a messy bun and stripping off her clothes. The hot water was soothing as it rushed down from the shower head, hugging her body in an embrace of liquid and steam.

Yet no amount of boiling water could eradicate her rapidly spinning thoughts.

She finished quickly and changed into a pair of navy blue slacks and a white singlet. The blonde had just taken her hair out of a bun when the familiar sound of her mobile vibrating on the wooden bedside table forced her to leave the still steam-filled bathroom.

Emma picked up the phone and looked at the caller I.D. before answering.

"August?" she greeted incredulously, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

"Good Morning Emma – or is it evening where you are?" he answered.

She rolled her eyes, "Evening - asshat."

"Oh, still feisty as ever – Graham told me he told you to call me," he said, and Emma's fog congested mind had trouble catching up with his words.

"What?"

"Did Graham tell you I wanted you to call me?" he reiterated in a slow and frankly condescending voice. She quickly snapped to attention at his tone, forcing away all previous thoughts and focusing on the conversation.

"Yes."

"Then why have you not called?" he asked, as if it were the most important priority on her list.

She let herself fall back onto the bed, still holding the phone to her ear as she stared up at the ceiling, "Because, unlike some people, I have a job that requires my time. Besides, if you wanted to speak to me so bad, you could call yourself."

"Which is exactly what I'm doing," August retorted.

"What do you want, Booth?" she deadpanned, unwilling to prolong this preamble when all she really wanted to do was curl into a ball and fall asleep.

"To be honest I just wanted to check up on you but… you should know something."

Emma's stomach dropped through her torso and it felt like it had somehow fallen to the lobby six floors below. She swallowed, keeping her emotions in check with an immense amount of effort.

"Well, I'm told Graham called you yesterday and told you _he'd_ been sighted in the general area of Miranda's latest mission?"

"Yeah," Emma breathed, pushing herself up and holding on to the bedside table for support.

"One of Miranda's contacts said she didn't turn up at their rendezvous point this morning."

Silence.

"She's dead isn't she?" Emma asked bluntly, pointing out the figurative elephant in the room. August didn't reply for a long moment and she almost forgot that while _she_ hadn't kept in touch with her old team, _they_ might have. When his voice came through the speaker again, it was shaky.

"I don't know."

Emma Swan was not naïve or by any means religious but by god did she wish she was. Perhaps then, she might be oblivious to the threat slowly approaching or have enough faith that it wouldn't cause collateral damage.

But no, Emma Swan was intellectual and a decided realist. So she knew

It was easier to act oblivious than to face the truth.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, letting some emotion drip into her words, cushioning the impact of what they meant. Because she didn't really know how close Miranda and August had been. The young woman with straight black hair and intense emerald coloured eyes was a ghost of a memory in Emma's mind, an image she only ever recalled in association with _him_.

So, she didn't often think about Miranda. Until now.

"We've got authorities on the look-out for her, but I don't think… I don't think they'll find her."

She could hear him cut off the end off of the sentence, severing it before it could do damage; he didn't think they would find her _alive_. There was silence again as Emma waited for him to introduce a new topic, and it was without surprise that she realized they didn't have anything else to discuss. Time and space meant that any semblance of a relationship that may have existed between the two was now gone, like dried flakes of paint that had slowly but surely been scratched off and thrown to the wind.

Now, all that remained was a distant acquaintanceship.

"I have to go," Emma finally mumbled, "take care."

"You too," August replied, and then the line went dead.

She pulled herself up off the bed and rage began to bubble up inside of her, unreasonable and unforeseeable. The blonde threw her mobile phone at the wall, a satisfying smack resounding in the room as she began to kick the side of the bed.

Her breathing shallow, her hair a mess, Emma put her hands to her temples and inhaled deeply. She didn't know what had caused her sudden outburst and she didn't want to have to categorize it. It would be illogical to claim she might have felt saddened by Miranda's inevitable demise – she hadn't spoken to the woman in years. So why did she feel like the oxygen in the room had suddenly become too dense to breathe?

Needing air, Emma abruptly moved away from the bed and walked out of her room into the hall, leaning against the wall and looking up at the ceiling. She breathed deeply, attempting to inhale as much air as she could and then exhaling it with an audible 'ha.' She was unused to being so unstable; everything in her life had been so utterly controlled for such a long time that now, with the threat of uncontainable chaos looming ominously over her head, she didn't have a clue how to deal with it.

She imagined his face and a shudder of fear ran through her, though she wouldn't deny there was the smallest hint of anticipation there as well. It was a cruel and twisted thing; her emotions.

On one side, she knew she should be wary, that his escape meant certain repercussions and possible death. She knew he was dangerous and capable of heinous things. She knew he was a criminal – hell, _she'd_ been responsible for his incarceration.

But there was still a small part of her, curled up in the corner of her mind like a battered and bruised alter-ego. It whispered retribution with a voice of eagerness. It rose keenly at the idea of seeing him again and the more dominant side of her mind scolded it for such stupidity and blatant naivety. It didn't care though, smiling evilly at the knowledge that she would be seeing him again and, when she did, everything would come rushing back with a vengeance.

She could imagine how the terror would cripple her on the spot, like a blow to the back of her knees. How the heat would rise to her face out of both anger and guilt. And then of course, despite telling herself it didn't matter, she could imagine the warmth that always came with seeing his face.

Because that had never changed – sick and twisted as it may be, she really had been stupid enough to develop genuine feelings for him. Regardless of every single warning she'd been given – Emma had been naïve enough to play with fire and she knew firsthand just how much it hurt to get burned. The puckered scars on her heart the only invisible tell-tale.

Emma frowned at the ceiling, her hand reaching up to touch the hollow of her throat where a beautiful pendant had once lain. Her finger delicately traced the empty space, and she closed her eyes trying to ignore the emotions threatening to swallow her whole.

_Dread._

_Remorse. _

_Fondness._

_Embarrassment._

_Regret._

She started when there was a sound down the corridor.

Emma snapped out of her reverie, straightening her shoulders and swallowing the lump in her throat. Her eyes locked onto the door that opened, hesitantly at first and then swinging easily.

It was Killian who stepped out of the room, and Emma's apprehension waned only to be replaced by irritation. She did _not_ feel like dealing with him, of all people, right now.

The blonde folded her arms across her chest, a defensive mannerism she'd adopted when she was young. Killian eyed her carefully and she couldn't put her finger on what she saw in his ice blue eyes as they studied her. She knew she looked exhausted and, more than anything, beleaguered.

As soon as she noticed his dissection of her, the fleeting display of vulnerability disappeared and the impenetrable walls were resurrected.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked, suspicion lining her words like acid.

Killian raised his hands innocently, "I just heard you out here and was curious," he admitted. Emma's eyes narrowed as she scrutinized him, studying the planes of his face for any slither of untruth. But all she saw was grey, no definitive answer to her silent inquiry, and, not possessing the strength to coax a more conclusive answer, she unwillingly let it go.

She chewed on her bottom lip, still untrustworthy despite his excuse for joining her in the warmly lit hallway. Emma leaned against the wall next to her door, folding her arms across her chest and raising her blue-green stare heavenwards. She let herself ponder aimlessly over the swirling pattern on the ceiling as she heard Killian approach her and lean on the wall beside her.

His eyes burned a hole into her temple and she could see from her peripheral vision as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his black coat. It was silent for a long moment before his accented voice broke her trance.

"I'm sorry."

Emma's eyes swivelled towards him and she turned her head to face him. She watched him carefully, waiting for some sarcastic explanation to his apology. Genuine emotion was incredibly rare for him. He finally dragged his cerulean gaze from the ceiling to meet her eyes.

"About the other morning," he elucidated, shrugging, "I… shouldn't have pushed you. And I'm sorry."

She stared at him in shock for another second and then turned abruptly to stare at the wall opposite them.

"It's fine," she croaked lamely and he studied her for a long moment, as if trying to make a decision.

"Are you alright?" he finally asked and Emma sighed, fixing the wall opposite them with a withering look.

"You know that's the second time you've asked me that today?" she said, avoiding actually answering the question since she was sure he wouldn't believe her anyway. Killian shrugged and silence encroached as neither spoke for a long time.

And then, "Listen… I know you're not going to tell me right now and I can deal with that." He gave her a meaningful look that she didn't return, "But… take care of yourself, okay?" Killian's eyes stayed on her for a moment longer, his lip somewhere in the grips of his teeth as he pondered something unidentifiable. When Emma didn't respond, still too blindsided by the abrupt show of concern, he pushed off the wall. Emma glanced at him as he did and, with one last evocative look levelled in her direction which she met with her own tentative stare, he walked gracefully back to his room.

Emma pivoted on her heel to return to her own room. She pulled out the key card and entered it in the slot and, when the light flashed green, thrust her door open.

"Emma?"

She was behind the door but it wasn't closed, so she could hear him but he couldn't see her expression.

"You know you can tell me, right?" he said uncharacteristically hesitant, and a small reluctant part of her brain registered the intimacy of this moment despite the wooden door separating them from each other's view. She knew precisely what he was referring to, even without the subtle undertone of 'I know something's wrong' clear in his voice. Silence answered his question and he waited patiently for her to reply.

Every nerve in her body urged her to close the door and face him, tell him what was wrong and ask for help. Every single muscle tensed with the internal war occurring within her mind, because she wanted to tell him. And then it hit her; that was exactly why she couldn't tell him. _Because_ she wanted to – because her natural response was slowly becoming to trust him, let him in. Emma's grip tightened on the door as she processed this with lightning speed, anxiety seeping into her bones at the realization that, somewhere during their partnership, she'd begun to let him in.

Emma let her hand slide down the door as she searched desperately in her head for a response that wouldn't affect their fragile relationship. But there was none, so, without even a breath of reply, she retreated into her room.

8888

The next morning, with the sun glimpsing on the horizon, sending rays of orange and gold into the dark sky, their plane took off for the short journey home. Emma settled into a seat opposite Henry this time around, coaxing him into a game of chess (which she knew she would lose) just to keep her mind occupied.

He'd given her a strange look when she'd suggested it but eventually relented, only after warning her that he wouldn't go easy just because he liked her. Phillip had piped up from beside them; inquiring as to whether Henry liked him based on the slaughter he'd received in their last game. The young man had smiled in reply, turning his attention back to Emma who had set up the game.

Barely twenty minutes had passed when Henry announced, "Check mate."

The blonde sighed, giving him a bemused look and picking up a pawn to throw at him. He caught it deftly and raised an eyebrow.

"Immature," he muttered good-naturedly, putting the small chess piece back on the table in front of them. She rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest and glancing at the other end of the plane where her partner was reading a book.

"Emma – are you and Killian okay?" Henry asked abruptly, tearing her gaze away from the man at the end of the plane. She frowned, putting on a façade of triviality.

"Yeah, we're fine. Why do you ask?"

He gave her a condescending look – something which both irritated and surprised Emma. Firstly, because she disliked anyone looking at her with disdain purely out of principle. And secondly because it was so out of character for the young man sitting opposite her. The gods knew he was definitely entitled to be pompous, with all his degrees and distinctions, but he'd never been one to act on it. That was simply his make-up.

Emma raised her eyebrows.

He blushed under her stern glower, "I just mean it's kind of obvious that something's going on. You're both out of sorts lately."

"We're fine," she answered, "you should know by now that me and Jones don't always get along."

He nodded, replacing the pieces on the board so they could play another game.

"Oh hey, by the way Phillip and I were thinking perhaps we could go out to celebrate the Super Bowl next week?" Henry said absentmindedly, pushing forward one of the pawns and stroking his chin in thought. Emma concentrated on her first move, pushing forward one of her own pieces before looking up to the young man again.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said; Phillip and I were thinking perhaps we could get the team together and go out to celebrate the Super Bowl," he repeated, thrusting another chess piece forward on the board.

"When's that?" she asked, surprised and slightly bummed that she'd missed the majority of the lead-up.

"Next week," he replied.

"I'm game," a voice said from beside Emma and she jumped in her seat, blue-green eyes snapping up to land on Killian. He leaned on the side of her seat, his arms crossed as he watched their game in apparent amusement. She rolled her eyes and turned back to Henry.

"No one asked you," she snapped back. He turned to her with a raised eyebrow, probably curious as to what he had done to warrant such an unusually short temper with her. Emma didn't truly want to delve into her reasoning either, she just knew that, since the night prior, she felt the need to distance herself from him – even if that meant aggravating him.

He gave her a confused frown, but Emma ignored it.

She had to shut him out.

Henry looked between the two of them as the blonde manoeuvred another pawn. She wondered if they'd made scissors that could cut tension yet because such a device would probably glide happily through the air at that moment.

"Well," Henry said awkwardly, "that's three. If we can get you and David, it'd be fun."

Emma cocked her head as if pondering the suggestion, "A night spent at home with my wine or a night spent in the presence of drunken chauvinistic assholes? Sorry kid, I'll pass." He frowned and, without even looking at the board, prodded a piece forward.

"I wasn't under the impression we would be going to a crappy watering-hole. We were thinking of going to the Mad Hatter – you know the one downtown that's fairly mild?"

"The only reason I ever liked going there was to beat the regulars at darts. I've done that. Ergo, I have no reason to go there anymore."

"But since it is super bowl, there might be new people to display you dart-throwing prowess to?"

Killian artfully chose to intercede just then, strutting towards Henry's seat and leaning against the wall which it was backed against. He levelled Emma with a challenging stare, "Don't bother Henry, she won't come. She's too concerned she might actually have to put her money where her mouth is."

The blonde's lips drew into a tight line and she narrowed her eyes at him, "If you're trying to goad me, it won't work."

He smirked, "I would never try to goad you, love. I'm just pointing out the fact you are incredibly reluctant to the idea of going out. We all went last year, so, do share, what's changed your mind this year?" Henry, who had been watching her partner, turned back to her with a shrug as if to say 'he has a point.' Emma bit her lip and subsequently the slew of words she wanted to throw at Killian.

He did have a point – unless she wanted to explain _why_ she didn't want to come (which was either (a) that she didn't want to be in close proximity to her partner when alcohol was present or (b) she was completely consumed by the need to keep tabs on her past and thus was losing the ability to sleep) she would have to go. Or come up with a suitable excuse.

And for some reason, her mind was failing to provide adequate justification.

_Goddamned fucking Irish man-bitch._

"Fine," Emma spat, shoving a knight forward with unnecessary force.

Killian smiled in satisfaction, slapping Henry on the back and walking back to sit opposite David who he was most likely informing of their little get-together. Luckily, he would probably bring Mary Margaret whom Emma had a particular fondness for. If they could get Ruby along – which shouldn't be too difficult – the blonde might actually manage to enjoy herself.

8888

Why had she agreed to this?

She gave Ruby a disdainful look as the two women walked towards the bar, the music from inside already perceptible from the street, mingled in with the sound of laughter and glasses being clinked together. The brunette beside her grinned brilliantly, all white teeth and red lips.

Her dark hair hung straight down her back, her large eyes shaded and lined in black to match her ensemble of black skinny jeans, red shirt and brown jacket. Ruby also wore six inch heels to enhance her height – because, you know, she wasn't already tall enough.

She snaked her arm through Emma's, appreciating her appearance with a once over as they continued walking. Dressed in dark blue jeans, a black singlet and burgundy leather jacket, her naturally curly hair left to dangle down her back in a waterfall of gold, she looked _good_.

"You'll enjoy yourself and you know it," Ruby said optimistically, leading Emma into the bar.

They were meeting the team there and Emma only hoped they weren't the first to arrive. She was still trying to figure out how she'd been tricked into it and, when contemplating it brought her back to her partner, she chose to let it go.

It was best not to ponder.

The music became louder as they passed through the door and she was immediately scanning the bar for a familiar face. However, her friend was the first to spot their team-members at a table near the small timber area that had been allotted as some pathetic excuse for a dance-floor. Ruby led her through the crowd of people to where David, Mary Margaret and Henry were sitting, beers in hand.

The only woman at the table stood up at their approach with a look of relief on her face, brushing her bangs out of her eyes as she met them in front of the table. Her soft green eyes found Emma's and the latter was quick to reciprocate the hug she offered.

"Long time, no see," Mary Margaret said, her voice barely heard over the loud music.

Emma nodded, "Yeah." She moved around her as Ruby stepped forward to embrace the petite woman, sitting at the table beside Henry. He was talking to David about something and she chose not to interrupt, letting her gaze drift up to the small television screen displaying the game. Personally, Emma didn't have a preference between the Ravens and the 49ers. Her team didn't get in so it wasn't of concern to her who won, though she had her money on the Ravens.

Someone pinched her arm and the blonde whipped to the side only to see Phillip smiling at her.

"You came!" he said loudly, throwing his arms up in the air. She nodded with a small smile, shrugging as if to say 'what else has a girl to do on a Sunday?' (Answer: many things, including preparation for a certain ex who may or may not have a thing for revenge)

"Aye, that she did," a familiar voice alleged behind her.

Emma revolved on the spot, a deadpan expression already fixed into place as she did. She found herself facing Killian and was almost taken off-balance by the close proximity with which he stood. But, never one to show weakness, she didn't step back, simply maintaining his stare.

"I'm surprised you aren't already on the dance floor dry humping," Emma said scathingly, feeling as Phillip moved towards the nucleus of their group. People walked between the two agents and the table, further pushing them away and isolating the blonde in her partner's presence.

He raised an eyebrow, "So harsh Swan, but is that a hint of longing I hear? _You_ wouldn't like to dance would you?"

She scoffed derisively, "Not on your life."

Their eyes locked for a long moment and she could see the bitterness in the way he regarded her – evidently, her ignorance of him for the past week hadn't gone unnoticed. In the gym, she'd occupied herself with the punching bag, overlooking the past years of combat-training tradition (and the fact that her doctor had told her to lay-off the exercise for fear of worsening the deep graze on her side). In the office, she'd gravitated towards Phillip and Henry, only ever interacting with him when absolutely necessary. For the first day or two, Killian had simply been befuddled at her behaviour.

Now, though, he was angry and she could see it clearly in his crystalline eyes.

"I'm going to go and show some men how women play darts," she finally said.

"Badly?" Killian suggested with a dark smirk. Emma narrowed her eyes at him once before stepping decisively around him and towards the buffoons already playing the aforementioned game. As she did, she caught sight of the windows, their coloured glass reminding her strangely of a bar not too far from 'The Mad Hatter.' Emma paused to lean on the archway leading to the dart-board room, her mind already reminiscing memories that were best left forgotten.

_**February 2005**_

_Emma walked confidently into the derelict bar, an air of erudition rolling off her effortlessly as her black heels clicked concisely along the wooden flooring. She made a beeline for the booth in the back corner, sitting down and tucking a perfect blonde curl behind her ear. Her blue-green eyes scanned expertly over the bar, searching for her prey with practiced nonchalance._

_She let her attention wander to the artfully designed windows, silently admiring the use of stained glass to create a truly entrancing pattern. A barkeep approached the table and she kept her expression neutral as the woman stopped with a pen and pad at the ready. Emma ordered a pint of beer, selectively ignoring the waitress' incredulous look as she turned and headed back to the bar to prepare the beverage._

_The blonde had never understood the general consensus stating all women liked frilly drinks with umbrellas – Emma would take a bottle of Budweiser over a martini any day. Though, she wouldn't refute that her favourite alcohol was undoubtedly red wine._

_She pulled back the sleeve of her black leather jacket to check the time, folding her legs under the table effortlessly in spite of the tight dark skinny jeans she was wearing. Emma looked back to the entrance, watching as men and women occasionally entered the dirty establishment and made themselves at home at the bar; it was the sort of restaurant that men came to after being caught cheating and women came to in an attempt to forget their stuffy repetitive lives. Thus, it was the perfect watering hole for people to meet up in the hopes of having a one-night stand._

_It caught her genuinely off-guard when a man slid into the chair opposite her without her notice – having come from the back rather than the front entrance. But then, she probably should have expected as much since he all but owned the place._

_Her eyes snapped quickly onto him and she raised her eyebrows challengingly. _

_He smirked, maintaining eye contact despite the tight black clothing she had donned for the evening – a fact she was more than impressed by. He was attractive, though a voice in the back of her head scoffed at the insinuation that he mightn't be just because of his shady dealings. With mussed dark brown hair and brown eyes, he certainly wasn't unattractive._

_The only question was whether this was her guy or one of his guards sent in as a decoy. _

"_Jennifer?" he asked._

_Emma smiled without warmth, narrowing her eyes, "Cassidy?"_

_He nodded and her wits told her he was being honest. So this was him._

"_I've been told anyone wanting to get into business with 'the big guns' should see you?" _

_He grinned appreciatively at her; his gaze fixed on her with what she could swear was intrigue. _

"_That depends."_

"_On what?"_

"_Why you sought me out specifically."_

_Emma maintained her composure at the thinly veiled threat, daring her to reveal her true motives for being at the bar and damning her if she didn't come up with a suitable response. She kept her face devoid of reaction with expert focus, her eyes flicking to the barmaid as she brought over the pint of beer. The woman sat it down in front of Emma and walked away without another word and the man opposite her eyed the drink curiously._

"_I wouldn't peg you as the sort of girl to drink beer," he admitted._

"_Woman," Emma corrected, picking up the mug and taking a long swig, "and there are a lot of things about me that might surprise you."_

_He chuckled faintly, a small part of the blonde taking note of the sound and storing it away for future cogitation. She didn't miss the way he waited for her to speak, obviously still contemplating whether she was genuine or not. Luckily, Emma had missed her calling as an actress._

_She flicked a piece of hair out of her face, "I've heard good things about you – that and I can appreciate a pretty boy when I see one."_

_He leaned back in the chair, the smirk on his face stretching to a grin as she sipped at the beer, her eyes holding his and waiting for him to either shoot her in the face or offer her a deal. He did neither and continued to watch her. When she began to feel uncomfortable under his scrutiny, the blonde leaned back as well, sighing in tedium and looking around the bar._

"_I think we should take this discussion elsewhere… puisque la matière est d'une nature sensible."_

_She murmured the last part in French, oddly delighted when he grinned in recognition at the language and registered that she had said '…_since the material is of a sensitive nature'

_His eyes twinkled with amusement as he leaned forward, "Vous pourriez avoir raison."_

'You might be right._' _

_Emma grinned, pulling out a single note of cash and placing it on the table. She stood up, stepping out from the booth to stand next to the still sitting man. She looked down at him with a defiantly raised eyebrow._

"_Shall we, Cassidy?"_

_He stood up and their proximity set off warning bells in her mind, "Call me Neal."_

* * *

**Reviews are milo-covered ice-cream (and if you've never had milo before, it's like chocolate fairy dust you can sprinkle on anything and make it taste better).**


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay, so this one's a whopper. Shout out to Nicole for beta-ing like a beauty. Happy reading! (And please don't kill me)**

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Killian watched her walk through the clumps of people, his mind still racing to catch up with her harsh words. He wondered if he'd done anything particularly heinous and came up blank; he'd done nothing thus far to aggravate her, so far as he knew.

But she was definitely ignoring him. That much was blatantly obvious.

On the plane she'd refused to meet his eye for extended moments and outright ignored him for the majority of their short trip. From his spot next to the table, he could see as she gravitated towards the men playing darts and though he was irritated with her behaviour towards him, smirked when she challenged them to a game. They grinned and agreed, arrogance rolling off them.

They had no idea what they'd just agreed to.

Killian turned back to the group, smiling when Mary Margaret spotted him and moved around the table to greet him. He embraced the petite woman with a fond smile; it had been a while since he'd been in her company.

"Killian," she greeted, stepping back and holding his shoulders so she could appraise him. He was wearing a dark button up shirt, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow and denim jeans.

"How's life with the bossman?" he replied.

Mary Margaret dropped her hands and tried (and failed) to subdue a bashful grin, "Oh, you know. It's alright – I guess," she said sarcastically, shrugging. Another familiar face popped up behind her and Killian felt his mood brighten at seeing the Colgate-ad-worthy smile directed his way.

Ruby put a hand on Mary Margaret's shoulder so she could shift past and stand before the agent herself. The petite pixie-haired woman gave Killian a brief smile before returning to sit by her husband so he could catch up with the other woman.

He pointed an accusing finger at Ruby as she beamed up at him, "I need to talk to you!"

Her decisively arched eyebrows pulled together in a frown, confusion on her face as she considered what she may have done to merit the wrath of Killian. He flicked her on the nose, a concise and sharp movement that made her squeak in response.

"Don't call me Killy," he warned, explaining his prior meaning with the statement.

She grinned again and patted him on the shoulder, "Oh sweetie, you actually think you have control over what I do. That's cute."

He glowered half-heartedly at her and she moved to stand beside him, putting her arm through the crook of his and guiding them both towards a seat at the already crowded table. Their teammates and guests were already involved in conversation so Killian turned to Ruby.

"Is Emma pissed off at me?" he asked – with Ruby there was no need for preamble. If something was going down, she knew about it. And if she knew about it, her ability to keep it to herself was limited if not completely non-existent.

Her red lips pursed and she strained her neck to locate the blonde.

"Why's that?" she asked, still searching for Emma in the crowded bar.

"Because she's shutting me out more than usual."

Ruby gave him an incredulous look, "Isn't that what she does anyway?" The brunette continued looking around and not willing to watch her struggle any longer, Killian pointed towards the dartboard where said blonde was now annihilating some very shocked male patrons. Ruby spotted her and slunk back down into her seat, shrugging as she took a sip of her pink drink.

"Well, yes," he replied, "but… at the risk of sounding like a bloody adolescent girl, she's being… _weird_." He muttered the final word with a shrug and took a sip of Ruby's drink.

"You definitely sound like an adolescent girl."

"Shut up."

"Duly taken into consideration. Besides, if Emma's pissed off at you, she'll let you know soon enough what it's about; girl's terrible at keeping her grievances to herself for too long," Ruby said, glancing at the subject of their conversation.

"I know that – I just… forget it," he said, running a hand through his dark hair and shrugging off the need to further the conversation. He found himself looking over Phillip's shoulder at Emma who was making the victory rounds, taking the money from her opponents with what appeared to be a genuine smile. She tucked the notes into her back jean pocket and he shook his head in bemusement.

One of the men she'd beaten came up beside her and began talking to her, his eyes briefly flitting down past her face to ogle her form. Unfortunately, Emma had been looking over his shoulder to check the football score and didn't notice the depraved mannerism.

Killian's fists clenched and he narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the guy who continued talking to her. She was still smiling and even laughed at something he said.

The agent abruptly found himself envying the man; _he_ could make her laugh and smile without worrying about a backlash. It wasn't fair – and he hated himself for thinking it, but it was the truth. She was always so guarded around Killian and while the man wasn't exactly forcing her to open up about her life, his partner was acting carefree and he so wished she would be like that with him.

_Wait – what? Stop being a bloody wuss. Go punch a wall or something; grow some balls_, the more primitive part of him muttered in irritation.

He stood up from the table and turned to Ruby, "I'm going to dance," he said unthinkingly, ignoring her raised eyebrows as he turned around and made his way through the bar towards the small dance-floor where a mass of people were writhing unceremoniously together.

He shoved himself into the mini-mosh pit, manoeuvring himself into the center so he could forget about the treacherous thoughts invading his mind. And so he couldn't see her.

Killian let himself fall into the rhythm of the music and was soon dancing alongside two other women. Their faces were shaded by the dim lighting of the establishment but from what he could see they were attractive. In fact, they were incredibly attractive – though he would admit it had something to do with their artfully applied make-up.

He didn't care though, smirking when they pushed up against him. His hips moved in synch with the slighter framed one and the other left to accost another dancer, leaving him alone with the one still pushing against him. She turned around and he put a hand on her hip, watching her face with satisfaction at the effect he had.

For some strange reason, as he moved he could feel eyes on him. Smile still in place, he expected to look up and find the team shaking their heads at him but when he raised his gaze from the woman in front of him, they were all still engrossed in conversation.

He shrugged and tuned back into the woman now trying to regain his attention.

She had dark brown eyes rimmed by heavily mascara-coated lashes, her lips painted a warm red hue. From what he could tell she had an olive complexion and coal-black hair. She'd put in the effort to curl it – because it definitely wasn't natural.

He'd never really liked it when women drastically changed their appearance to seem more desirable. He liked the more natural look, like Emma, and with this thought in mind he found himself strangely uncomfortable in the unnamed woman's presence. No longer enjoying himself, he delicately extracted himself from the woman dancing with him. She gave him a confused look to which he smiled and continued moving through the crowd.

The woman shrugged indifferently and immediately began searching for another playmate.

Killian walked towards the group, and was surprised to see a blonde head among their ranks. He purposefully avoided standing beside her, his simmering anger at her own behaviour affecting his actions. He moved around to sit beside Ruby again.

As he sat down Emma looked up and met his eyes and he saw something funny there, something he couldn't place but made his lips quirk up gently despite his best efforts. The image of her talking to the man by the dartboard flashed in his mind's eye and the small smile of amusement quickly evaporated, replaced by another emotion he didn't want to label.

"Having fun?" Phillip asked, snapping Killian to attention and drawing his eyes from the blonde.

The psychology expert had a knowing smirk on his face and so did the rest of their team – so they _had_ been watching him.

"Oh, you bet," he replied with a wink, to which the rest of the team laughed. Except Emma, who looked away as if trying to see the TV – but he knew she'd just been watching it and didn't need the update, just a distraction. For some reason, he felt something inside snap at her ignorance of him.

"What about you, Swan? Enjoying yourself?" he asked, the edge in his tone so subtle he knew only she would be able to pick up on it. And she did as she met his eyes, scrutinizing him heavily in the dark setting.

"Definitely," she answered curtly, smiling in a way that looked more to him like she was baring her teeth.

Their team just chuckled and shook their heads, clearly oblivious to the undercurrent of tension that existed between the two partners. Though Killian could swear he saw Ruby's eyes flicker between them uncertainly – she was the only one who would have picked up on such internal affairs.

"Who's winning?" Mary Margaret asked, turning to look at the TV.

Emma had answered her before she'd laid eyes on it though, "Baltimore."

"_Oh_," David's wife whined, spinning back to face the group, "I bet my friend that the 49ers would win."

"Well the game's not over yet and they are the favourites," David consoled her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and kissing her on the head. It reminded Killian of something he'd been meaning to relay to his favourite tech analyst and he turned to face her with a smirk on his face.

"Did David tell you Mary Margaret and he are having their vows renewed?"

The aforementioned couple turned at the sound of their names and looked cluelessly on as Ruby's face erupted into a maniacal grin.

"No!" she squealed, hopping off her stool and moving to stand behind the couple. She put her arms around each of them who still looked on confused about what the brunette was doing. Ruby hugged them to her sides. David gave their group a questioning look.

"What's she on about?"

Emma piped up after taking a long swig of beer, "Jones told her about your impending vow-renewals."

The Unit Chief and his wife gave Killian a stern look, though its impact was severely diminished by the small smiles dusting each of their lips. Ruby jumped up and down behind them, letting go to clap her hands like an excited child.

"Oh, oh, oh! When is it? Can we get dressed up? Where are you having it?"

The questions were fired off like cannon balls, exploding the air with a squeal and the sound of her jewelry clashing together as she bounced on the spot. The sound of someone's phone ringing interrupted them and everyone checked their pockets. It was David's and he pulled out the device and looked at the screen, his face dropping.

They didn't even need him to speak to convey what it was but he did anyway, "We have a case."

"What? _No_, this is Super Bowl night. We are not _allowed_ to have a case," Ruby pouted, crossing her arms and frowning like a spoiled toddler. Killian smiled at her reaction but pulled away from the table. It was then that he noticed Henry's absence.

"Hey," he said, garnering the attention of those at the table, "Where's the kid?"

"He went over to trick some money out of unwitting drunks – he's by the bar," Phillip said. Emma stood up, silently signalling she would procure the young analyst as they prepared to leave. Ruby and Mary Margaret picked up their purses and filed out of their seats, the men already standing beside the table ready to leave.

When Emma returned, Henry was grinning and counting what looked to be three twenty-dollar bills.

"I swear, this happens every time we go out," Ruby complained to Mary Margaret.

The youngest member of their team interceded, "Actually, statistically, the cases don't come with any more frequency if you're at a party or gathering than if you aren't. It's a trick of the mind – we merely remember the ones that came in that way more." The brunette scrutinized him heavily for a moment and he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

"How are you so intelligent?" she finally asked breathily, shaking her head in apparent amazement. Henry shrugged timorously, smiling once at the two women before the team walked towards the exit. Killian walked behind Emma and Henry and when the younger man departed to go to his car, he was left alone with his partner to continue the rest of the way down the street where they'd parked their cars.

They continued on in silence, and eventually – surprisingly – she said something.

"So, did you have fun back there?" she asked, biting the last word with surprising venom. He ignored her tone and answered honestly.

"Yes, I did – I enjoy spending time with the team."

She scoffed and muttered under her breath, "Yeah, _that's_ why you had a good time."

He frowned, his temper starting to tickle as she spoke to him with obvious disdain. He gave her a mocking look of miscomprehension, "Sorry, what did you say?"

"Nothing."

They walked another two meters and then he chose to break the silence.

"What about you? Have fun playing darts?" he asked sharply, cursing himself for revealing he'd kept an eye on her. She turned to him this time, an elegantly arched eyebrow ascending her forehead in curiosity.

"You were watching me?" she asked.

"It's hard not to watch men being annihilated at a game they usually excel in," he retorted dryly.

"I assumed your attention was… elsewhere," she replied, hinting at something he felt he should know. Killian racked his brain as he tried to pinpoint what her words indicated until he finally arrived at a conclusion that made his lips lift up into a smirk.

"You were watching me dance."

"No I wasn't."

"Lie."

She shrugged indifferently, "I might have glimpsed you dry-humping a woman who looked suspiciously like Snooki but other than that; no." His smirk widened into a grin at the condescension in her tone as she spoke of the woman he'd danced with. There was also the faintest hint of indignation in her voice.

"Well, I might also have glimpsed the men you were playing darts with ogling you when you weren't looking."

"What makes you think I wasn't aware?" she challenged, causing him to pause in thought. He didn't have a witty retort for that because the idea she was _okay_ with those men looking at her that way made his stomach do strange things. He didn't have time to ponder it though because she'd reached her car and he still had a little ways to walk before he reached his.

She pulled out her keys and he waited with her even though he knew she could effortlessly handle herself should someone foolishly try to jump her.

When she'd successfully unlocked her car and opened the door, Emma turned around and nodded a good bye to Killian.

"See you at the office," he said, spinning on his heel to continue walking down the road.

8888

It was half an hour later that they were all gathered around the round table in their home office, save for Mary Margaret whom David had dropped off at home on his way. When they were all finally seated and quiet, Ruby picked up the remote for the television screen and pressed a button, a picture of an older woman with white hair appearing on the screen.

"Florida; Margery Tipton, a seventy-four year old widow was found murdered in her home about two hours ago," she said.

"Two hours ago?" David questioned, raising an eyebrow at the tech analyst.

"Police were on the scene unusually fast – and the reason, you ask? This is hinky; one of the un-subs called 911 to warn them that the other was about to murder the poor old lady," she replied, giving the picture of the victim a sympathetic look. "According to the 911 dispatchers, the one who called them sounded terrified and begged them get there because the other, who they both identified as Michael, was about to – and I quote – 'kill the sinner that lived there.'"

The team exchanged long looks, already formulating hypotheses towards the un-subs profile. Henry looked up at the brunette, a puzzled look creasing his forehead.

"What was their response time?" he asked.

"Four and a half minutes," Ruby replied, "during which time the un-subs were able to do this." She flinched as she pressed the button, looking away from the images that appeared on the screen. There was blood everywhere and Killian felt bile rise in his throat at the mangled body of the elderly woman.

"In four and a half minutes?" he clarified, looking at the tech analyst with disbelief.

"Yeah – Margery was retired but she inherited a ton of money from her parents and then from the death of her husband. Also – and here's where things get weird – when authorities arrived they found _this_ displayed prominently on the front door," she said, punctuating her word by clicking the button so an image became visible of some kind of page from a book. Everyone squinted to read it and she pressed something on the remote so it zoomed in, allowing the team to do just that.

"It's a passage from the bible," Phillip said, frowning and leaning back in his chair, _"For the wicked boasts of the desires of his soul, and the one greedy for gain curses and renounces the Lord._"

Emma rubbed her forehead, "So we have a killer on a mission to kill sinners."

"Mission based killers will not stop killing," Henry commented, a grim look crossing his features that Killian was sure was reflected in his own face. He really hated the mission-killers; they were always so convinced they were doing the right thing that it made it hard to talk them down in hostile situations. He only hoped they didn't get into one.

He also hated people who used religion as a shield for their own screwed up tendencies.

Not that Killian was religious – but it made him angry that the few bad apples gave the entire freaking religion a bad name. Apparently the rest of the team shared his sentiments because their expressions closed off into irritation.

8888

The next morning they were on the plane again and the second the seat belt light dinged off they were huddled around a table reading through the files and looking at studies of missionary killers. Killian had just finished reading the background information they had on the lady when he exhaled deeply, pushing the air out in a deep gust and leaning his head back against the caramel leather chair.

"This is not good," he announced finally, causing Emma – who had chosen (not so subtly) to sit diagonal from him – to look up through her eyelashes.

"Gee, what made you think that?" she deadpanned, flicking over one of the pages in the manila folder and looking back down. He felt his hackles rise at her tone and a little bit more acid seeped into the slowly building pool of anger he held towards her.

"Call it intuition," he retorted with narrowed eyes, not at all in the mood to try and sort out her screwed up mindset. He was so over the back and forth she was treating him to, he really just wanted to return to the way they had been – witty banter and the occasional challenge for dominance. Not this spiteful snapping and bitter interaction. It felt unnatural and frankly, it was quite distracting.

He could see as she imperceptibly shook her head and he was about to comment when the laptop in the center of the table sounded to indicate Ruby was video-calling. He leaned forward and pressed the button, the rest of the team looking up from their respective reading and focusing on the screen.

"What do you have for us Ruby?" David asked.

"I just got the 911 call from the Florida state police. You might want to take a listen," she said, her usual mirth gone in the wake of whatever disturbing effect the tape had. There was the feint sound of a button being pressed before the recording began.

"_Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?"_ a monotone female voice asked calmly.

"_I need you to send police to thirty-three Freemont Drive,_" a male voice responded, shaky and clearly distressed.

The 911 operator responded, "_What is your emergency, sir?"_

There was the sound of the man breathing, and it was shallow and panicked, before he replied, "_He thinks she has too much unnecessary stuff, but she's just an old lady she doesn't –_"

"_Are you calling because she has too much stuff?"_

"_No – I'm calling because Gabriel…"_ the voice drifted off into some sort of whimper and the 911 operator waited patiently for a reply before inquiring if the man was still there. Then, out of nowhere, another voice picked up. It was deeper, a southern accent tinting the vowels so they came out as if he were hanging them out to dry.

"_He's calling because Gabriel is going to kill the sinner that lives here."_

"_Sorry, did you say someone was going to be killed?_" the operator questioned, the calm voice waning in the light of the statement. It was at this point that the call ended, the assailant named 'Gabriel' hanging up.

Phillip stroked his chin in thought, looking around the table at all of them, "Well, the first un-sub sounds terrified. Perhaps he's doing this against his will?"

David shook his head, "I don't think so. He whispered – he could have called out for help to save them instead of calling 911."

"He could have had a gun to his head?" Phillip suggested, always the man to try and seek out the best in people – even if they didn't deserve it. Emma shook her head this time, choosing to reply.

"If he had a gun to his head, why would he have called nine-one-one? Besides, I'm more curious about the second un-sub referring to Gabriel. Are we sure there isn't a third?" She looked around the table, successfully avoiding Killian; and a little more resentment seeped into his crevasse of indignation.

"Referring to oneself in third person isn't uncommon for an un-sub," Henry interjected in a matter-of-fact tone.

From the computer, Ruby spoke, "Okay, well I'll run the name Gabriel through the Florida criminal database as well as our own. Over and out."

The small window in which her face had appeared blacked out and Killian closed the tab, turning back to the other agents at the table.

"So, we have a killing team in Florida on a religious mission," Emma said, rubbing her temples with her fingers.

"Which means they aren't going to stop until their mission is complete," Phillip finished, putting his hand on the back of his head and fingering the hair there. David sat down on the edge of the table on the opposite side of the aisle.

"Okay, Phillip we need an inside picture of the victims – victimology could be vital in this case. Emma, this guy managed to kill a woman in four and a half minutes – I want to know _how_. Henry, Killian and I will go to the crime scene and then set up at the Florida station. In the meantime, get some rest. I want fresh eyes when we set down," the Unit Chief spoke with finality and unquestionable authority; it was any wonder he hadn't had a team of his own sooner. Killian couldn't imagine his superior ever following anyone else, the notion was abnormal.

With those final words, the man walked to the end of the plane and settled into a seat and – as per usual – and pulled out his phone, probably to call Mary Margaret. He felt nostalgia for the days of calling someone to let them know what was happening settle in the pits of his stomach, followed almost immediately by the clenching of his heart as he recalled _why_ he couldn't do that anymore.

Apparently his emotions were displayed on his face because when he looked up, Emma was giving him a confused look. She didn't drop her gaze when he met her eyes and there was an extended second where their gazes were simply locked.

He wondered idly what was going through her head because her walls were making it impossible for him to get a read on her like he usually did.

So he looked down and continued perusing the morbid images presented before him.

8888

Killian entered the room first, already eyeing the dark red stain on the white carpet in front of the four-poster bed. It was a nice house and he could understand how the old woman could have been mistaken for someone greedy.

There were already police officers in the large bedroom taking photos and samples. One of them, whom he presumed was the Chief of Police, made his way towards the three agents entering the room, a hand extended in greeting. Killian shook it and the man did the same to Henry and David.

"Agent Nolan, Agent Jones and Dr Henry Simmons," the latter said, introducing each of them.

"Officer Ford, nice to meet you all – though I wish it were under different circumstances," the police officer replied with a grim look, "Do you have anything so far?"

"Well, we know the killers are using religion to justify their actions," David replied and Henry and Killian moved further into the room. Killian kneeled beside the largest patch of dried blood, looking down on it with a frown before turning back to the police officer.

"How many times was Mrs Tipton stabbed?" he asked.

"Stabbed isn't exactly the word I would use," Officer Ford replied, glancing at the red stain and meeting Killian's ice blue eyes.

"What?" Henry said, voicing their concerns. It was just then that David's phone started vibrating and he answered it quickly, putting it on speaker. It was Emma.

"I'm at the morgue. The victim suffered three deep slashes to the major arteries – like she was an animal slaughter. We're dealing with someone who either has medical knowledge or has lived in a rural setting," she said, ignoring any need for preamble. They all nodded in understanding and the Unit Chief briskly extended his gratitude towards the female agent.

"Okay, thanks Emma."

"No problem, I'll see you at the precinct," she said and then the line went dead.

Killian stood up, "Okay," he said, moving towards the door and trying to get into the headspace of the killer, "So, if my partner's called the cops, they're on their way – I don't have a lot of time. Assuming the first un-sub didn't participate, I would have to enter first from here." He looked to where the large blood stain was. "I see Mrs Tipton preparing for bed and approach. She's old so I know it won't be difficult to subdue her. I cut her, put the note on the bed, and leave… were you able to pick up any DNA?" Killian asked. Officer Ford shook his head and Henry frowned.

"That's strange. Usually, un-subs suffering from a psychopathy or delusion like a message from God are what we would classify as being disorganized. They don't generally clean up after themselves."

David crossed his arms at the young man's observation, his brows pulling together in thought, "Perhaps the first un-sub made sure they did – he's obviously not completely invested in the killing."

The sound of Killian's phone ringing made them pause and he pulled out the small device, answering it and putting it to his ear.

"Yeah sweet cheeks?"

He ignored the strange look Officer Ford gave him and waited for Ruby's counter, anticipating some new and amusing greeting.

"You're at the crime scene, correct?" she said without prelude, her commonly bright voice a decibel lower than usual. The concern was already amalgamating in his mind.

"Yeah," he replied slowly.

"Is there a small white elegant morris chair in the corner?" she asked.

He turned around to check and surely enough, there was a small white chair nestled in the corner, the artfully designed mahogany detailing alluding to its likely expensive price. Killian cocked his head to the side anxiously.

"Yes."

She sighed, "Oh no."

"What? What's wrong?" he asked, the concern clear and tangible in his voice.

"I just got a viral video sent to me from a friend."

"What?"

_Why should that matter?_ He was tempted to ask if she was hung-over from the other night when she elucidated on her statement.

"I think it's a video of your crime scene, more specifically your crime, more specifically, Mrs Tipton being murdered."

He turned to look at Henry and David who were both looking at him with anxious stares, he voiced his thoughts in a way that would both ask her a question and answer theirs.

"You're telling me there's a video online of our crime?"

The look that crossed his team-members' faces was one of mixed shock and disgust. On the other end of the phone Ruby hummed an affirmative.

"Shot across the bedroom from the couch," she answered. Killian pulled the phone away from his ear, turning to face the couch and then pivoting to look in the opposite direction. There was a desk on the opposite side of the room upon which sat an inconsequential silver laptop.

8888

"He says the world is a cess pool of greed, lust and disease. He says redemption must be sought. We must all repent," the dark silhouette said, his face shaded by darkness cast about by the dim lighting and strategically placed hoodie. He closed the book from which he read and tilted his head up, but not so much that the light could catch a stray feature and identify him.

Emma and Phillip sat at the desk as the rest of the team – including Officer Ford – stood behind their chairs, all eyes glued to the screen. Killian shook his head at the monitor, watching as the image of their un-sub faded to reveal the video Ruby had mentioned.

"As the lord, God, spoke in Leviticus 26:18 - And if ye will not yet for all this hearken unto him, then he will punish you seven times more for your sins," a darker voice resonated over the grainy footage on the screen.

From where the webcam was recording across the room, Mrs Tipton became visible, shuffling into the room slowly. She headed towards the mahogany dresser opposite her bed and opened a drawer. Like watching a horror film come to life, Killian saw as a dark silhouette became visible in the doorway.

He moved towards the old lady and grabbed her roughly from behind, brandishing his weapon at her neck. Thankfully, however, Emma chose to pause the viral video before it could elicit their lunches to make a reappearance.

"Well the person speaking definitely sounded like the first un-sub," the blonde said, swivelling in her chair to face the team. Phillip mirrored her movements, his fingertips pressed together in thought.

"And the voice-over is certainly the second un-sub. I'm more interested in the fact that you only see one of them on tape. I'd bet my life savings it was the second one who did the dirty work," he said, nodding back to the screen where the hooded figure was poised with the knife at Mrs Tipton's throat. From a short distance away, still poised in front of the victim's computer that they had relocated to the precinct, Henry interrupted.

"Actually, that's not necessarily correct. In the case of Dick Hickock and Perry Smith, Perry was the subservient personality and strongly contested even entering the Clutter home, yet he was the one who almost single-handedly slaughtered the entire family."

Officer Ford turned back to the other agents with a look of bewilderment and slight admiration, "Huh," he shrugged in vague interest, subtly dismissing Henry and returning to the computer screen. The kid didn't take it as offensive, pivoting on his chair and focusing on the computer again.

"Punish you seven times? Does that mean there are six more victims?" David inquired, bringing forth the second un-sub's words of warning.

"Probably –"

"Hey guys," Henry's voice came again, alarm tipping his cadence to a higher decibel. He was standing now, leaning away from the computer at an awkward angle. His eyes sought them out and as they turned around he directed his attention to the Florida officer.

"Does this building have wireless?" he asked the burly man in a hushed tone. Officer Ford nodded slowly, confused at the young agents sudden desire to know their internet status and asked him as much.

"The webcam's on right now."

Their small congregation was quiet as the information set in and, in only a moment, David was quickly walking towards Henry, careful to stay out of the line of view of the laptop's webcam.

"Do you know whether the laptop was the victim's?" he asked firmly, pointing to the device.

Henry nodded an affirmative, "From what I can gather from her emails, her kids bought it for her so they could keep in contact with her."

Killian approached the two men as well, brows drawn in thought.

"So you're saying the computer's connected itself to the internet?"

"And streaming the feed somewhere," Henry finished for him, looking back at the laptop uncertainly. David rubbed his chin and kept his blue eyes on the computer on the desk, like it was a ticking time-bomb just waiting for the perfect moment to erupt.

"Can we trace the stream to the destination?" The Unit Chief posed, taking his hand away from his face.

Henry nodded appreciatively, pursing his lips in contemplation, "If we could keep it open, Ruby could –"

The sound of barely audible beeping stole the young man's attention away from the conversation and he spun around to find the source. Killian looked down to where it was coming from; to where the laptop's screen had now blanked out. Henry glanced at the worriedly, sitting down in front of the laptop and tapping rapidly in an effort to withhold whatever was occurring.

Killian didn't know much about technology but he had a feeling that whatever had just caused the computer to shut itself down was not good.

The rest of their team and the Florida Officer quickly gravitated towards Henry, David and Killian – surrounding the former as he tried in vain to restore the homepage. It was another couple of seconds before the beeping stopped as red words faded into sight on the black screen.

"The armies of Satan shall not prevail," Emma read from somewhere beside Killian.

There was another loud beep and then the screen was black again and Henry turned around to face them all.

"It's turned off."

David folded his arms across his chest as the young man closed the laptop lid carefully.

"So they're controlling it remotely," he said, to which Officer Ford shook his head, his face scrunched up in confusion like folds of rough fabric.

"Is that even possible?" he asked. Killian had to restrain the urge to laugh at the incredulous and disbelieving look that Henry gave him – he could only imagine what Ruby would have done if she'd heard such a question (which was likely scold the poor bloke for being so imprudent).

At that thought, Killian raised his hand, standing up and heading a short distance away, "I'll call Ruby."

David nodded at him in approval and the agent fixed his attention on the small mobile screen in his hand. He swiftly dialled the tech analyst and was unsurprised to hear her voice after one short ring.

"Fountain of knowledge – check my flow," she said and Killian shook his head.

"One day, sweet cheeks, you're going to say that I'm going to have put you on speaker phone," he responded, half-serious. She chuckled on the other end of the line and sighed dramatically.

"Oh honey, you know I don't care who hears it – it's _always_ been you," she replied.

He ignored her quip and any pretence of preamble, "We've just identified that the un-sub somehow hacked into the computer of his victim. How would one do that?" She scoffed, and there was no tapping of ring-stacked fingers on keys because she had the information off the top of her head – the lass did, after all, graduate MIT with honours.

"It's actually quite easy, sugar – in fact, did you say this was an older woman?" she asked, and Killian could almost hear the light bulb go off when he replied in the affirmative. "Well, remote computer access is done commonly with tech support – when muggles call, instead of giving instructions, the tech can work on the computer from wherever they are."

"Can they maintain the access even after the work is done?" he inquired.

"You're not supposed to but I suppose you could install a Trojan horse during the service?" Ruby answered, taking a sip of something that Killian almost automatically assumed was caffeinated.

"Would you be able to check through Mrs Tipton's phone records and see if she called for tech support in the last six months?"

"Righto – and if you can get me the lady's laptop, I can search the drive for anything implanted there," she said distractedly, the sound of a chair squeaking in the background. He could imagine her leaning back in the swivel chair and playing with the delicate pink pen that housed what he could only assume was a bird's tail on its lid.

"Thanks Ruby," he answered, pulling the phone away to hang up.

She giggled, "No problem, _Killy_."

The agent pulled the mobile device back to his ear, ready to reprimand the young tech analyst for continuing the use of the ridiculous nickname when the line went flat. He cursed under his breath and though there was no antagonism there, he reminded himself to admonish her the next time they talked.

Killian walked back to the group and relayed what Ruby had told him, sitting down at the table facing the whiteboard. Henry and Emma were also seated at the table while David and Phillip stood on the opposite side of the table, across from the three agents. The Unit Chief folded his arms when Killian had finished explaining their tech analyst's findings, a look of deep consternation masking his face.

"Okay," he said, pacing to the other side of the room, "What do we have so far?"

Emma leaned back in her chair, "The killing was clinically efficient – it had the earmarks of a slaughter."

"Or a sacrifice," Killian added absentmindedly, leaning on the table and looking around the team.

Phillip nodded grimly, "I haven't been able to find anything in federal or state databases that suggests similar crimes so, as far as I can tell, this is the first in the series."

"At least one member of the team may believe he's killing in the name of God, suggesting a psychopathy that should display extreme levels of disorganization and yet," Henry stood up from his seat and made his way to the pin board, carefully removing the crime scene report detailing the lack of DNA evidence, "forensic countermeasures were taken and there's a clear display of complicated computer work." He paused, frowning at the page and looking back up at the team as he fingered the corner of the page he was holding. "So, one member of the team is organized and the other is extremely disorganized but what's strange is that the one who we would consider being most in control – the one that made the phone call – can't seem to stop the other from killing. I mean, usually the frenzied personality takes direction from the cooler head."

Killian rubbed his forehead, "Okay, so let's look at that," he said, picking up a pencil from the table and playing idly with it as he spoke, "Un-sub one called the police before the murder but didn't leave time for them to get there."

"Could he be working on a defence in case of capture?" Emma queried, holding her hand aloft in question, "I mean, maybe he didn't want to stop the other but he did what he had to do to cover himself." David nodded and the blonde peered at a pile of manila folders on the desk, pulling them towards her and reading through them.

Killian turned back to their small congregation, all paused in thought.

One of the most difficult facets to their job was solving the puzzle that every crime presented. It wasn't simply a case of evidence, suspect, and arrest. They were given jigsaw pieces, all jumbled in a bloodied pile that they were tasked with hosing off and trying to fit into place. Have you ever tried to put together a jigsaw puzzle when you didn't have the picture it corresponded to?

That was their job.

Killian didn't know how long they sat there, trying to sort through the details of the case to give them a clear picture, throwing in the occasional suggestion. It certainly felt like hours. The two un-subs were a walking contradiction; everything about their methods, personalities, modus operandi, suggested two completely opposing ideas.

Phillip and Henry had taken to sitting down at the table as Emma continued to read through the manila folders she'd picked up. David stood in front of the pin board, his eyes scanning over the crime scene photos and reports over and over again, hoping to pick up something he hadn't previously.

Killian was looking through old unsolved cases involving deep cuts but none fit their un-sub.

From his peripheral vision, he could see as Emma's back straightened, her eyes darting quickly over the page she was reading.

"Hey guys," she said, calling everyone's attention, "I was looking through unsolved home invasions and three months ago, there was a prowler called in directly outside Mrs Tipton's home."

Henry raised his eyebrows, "A _prowler_?"

Emma nodded, standing up and walking towards David who put his hand out for the document. She obliged him, handing it over and turning back to the team with her hands on her hips.

"The witness was walking his dog in a nearby park, when he was going back to his car he saw a man in dark clothing go over the back wall and start sneaking up to the house. By the time the police got there, the prowler was gone," she said.

David looked up from where he was reading the police report of the incident, "Only one man?"

Again, Emma nodded and Killian asked, "Was the witness able to describe him?"

David turned to him, "If he did, it's not in the report."

"Did he leave a name and address?" Emma asked the Unit Chief. He looked to the top of the page and read the detail that lay there.

"Anthony Reed, he lives about an hour away."

The blonde tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and sighed, "It's a long shot but he might be able to give us a description of the un-sub."

David nodded, "Okay – go check it out."

Emma nodded and Killian prepared to accompany her, pushing his chair out and readying himself to endure her driving. However, when her blue eyes caught his movement, she walked towards Henry.

"Hey kid, let's go," she said with a nod towards the exit, as though it were the most normal thing in the world for her to ask the youngest member of their team to accompany her on a lead. It wasn't as though she had a partner or anything who had attended to nearly every lead with her in their years as companions. He narrowed his eyes at her as she spoke to the young man.

He felt something clench in his chest and it was oddly evocative of offense.

Henry's eyes flickered between Emma and Killian, silently begging them to give him direction. When his brown eyes landed on Killian, the man nodded imperceptibly and stood up to walk over to David.

The blonde didn't glance at him once, watching as Henry picked up his jacket before strutting out of the precinct. The second she left Killian realized the odd silence and turned around to see Phillip and David both staring expectantly at him.

"What?" he shrugged, a façade of disinterest gracing his features.

Phillip raised an eyebrow and with his familiar cadence asked, "So it's now considered normal for Emma to take Henry instead of her _partner_?"

"I don't _own_ her – and besides, might be good to get the kid some field work," he replied. David gave him an incredulous look and folded his arms across his chest and he felt strangely like he was back in high school, under the scrutiny of the principal who just didn't understand that the kid he'd beaten up had been picking on a junior.

"What?" he asked defensively.

"Did you guys have another fight?" David asked to which Killian responded with a dramatic sigh and a roll of his cerulean eyes.

"Oh my god, you make it sound like we're actually married – don't know if you guys know this, but we were _acting_ back in Illinois," he said, his tone implying that he was speaking to a couple of toddlers. David and Phillip exchanged knowing looks and Killian groaned. David opened his mouth to implore the dark-haired agent.

"Jones, you-"

Thankfully, as though the gods had heard his prayers, Officer Ford made his way over to them with a look of deep dismay etched into his wrinkled brow. He looked at each of them briefly before taking a deep breath.

"The state police just responded to another murder."

8888

Carlotta Avenue was one of those archetypal suburban streets that were habitually seen in real estate magazines – the white picket fences, perfectly manicured hedges lining a regularly-mowed spring green lawn that sprawled out to meet the edges of a panelled house. Every second home had their sprinklers on and every third had a delicate wind-chime on the front porch.

The two lane road was split by a line of Amur maple trees, their light green leaves nicely complemented by the lawns of each house. Killian could just imagine the children running down the concrete paths, riding their bikes or chasing each other – it was that kind of perfect neighbourhood.

Unfortunately, Killian's first impression of Carlotta Avenue was of a large white-panelled house with big bay windows where a dozen or so vehicles were parked along the curb and there was a line of police tape sectioning off the seamless house.

As their black sedan pulled up, David, Phillip and Killian exited the car and walked up the red brick pathway to the front porch. The door was already wide open and there were multiple police officers moving in and out of the house.

David moved in first, heading straight for Officer Ford who had left five minutes before they had and thus, arrived a few minutes earlier then they did, looked around the small front room and noted idly how there was only one photo of the married couple that owned the home. It was one of those generic wedding-day pictures of the bride and groom, smiling obligatorily at the camera. The man's smile was genuine – his eyes crinkled – while the woman grinned unconvincingly, her mouth brought up in a feeble attempt to showcase happiness.

He turned back just as Officer Ford began speaking, "They called again but this time only one spoke."

Phillip was quick on the uptake, "Which one?"

"I'm pretty sure it was Gabriel – I've got a recording being brought in for us. It took us ten minutes to respond this time because we only had the one unit close," he said apologetically – like it was his personal fault that a murdering duo on a mission had decided to make Florida their target.

"Could the un-subs have known that?" Killian asked.

"Perhaps – I mean, the lack of police presence in this area has gained media coverage lately."

"Where are the bodies?" David asked, having identified the house as belonging to a married couple. Officer Ford spun on his heel and indicated for them to follow, talking all the way as they made their way up the stairs.

"Now, the nine-one-one call wasn't all that was different. This particular scene is weird in another way," he said, leading them towards the room. The door was still open and from the hallway Killian could see the corner of the blood stain on the carpet. As the entered the room, Officer Ford stopped beside them.

"That man," he said, pointing to the naked man face-down on the floor, "does not live here."

Phillip turned to the officer with a look of confusion on his face as Killian and David shared a look. They walked further into the room as Phillip waited for an elucidation on the victim's identity.

Officer Ford looked down at the naked man lying in a pool of his own blood, "He's a local handyman."

David kneeled beside the man, "Who does live here?"

"The Gilmers – I just talked to Mr Gilmer a minute ago. He's on his way back from a business meeting down state and according to him, he wasn't having any handy work done on the house and his wife was supposed to be home."

"But she's not," Killian filled in, rubbing his stubble absent-mindedly and watching in slight amusement as Phillip put the pieces together with a look of pure shock. The guy was so bloody pure – adultery probably wasn't even in his vernacular.

"Her car's here – so are all her things; purse, keys, wallet. She seems to be missing," Ford added just as a younger looking officer entered and handed him a small sound recorder. David stood up and walked closer, as did Killian and they listened closely as the man pressed the button to play the tape.

It was the deep southern drawl that had cut off the first un-sub from Mrs Tipton's house.

"_Behold, I will cast her into a bed, and them that commit adultery with her into great tribulation, except they repent of their deeds. Another sinner will be slain in this house of treachery."_

The recording ended with a barely audible click.

"Okay," Phillip said, "so adultery's the sin but they killed _him_," he pointed to the naked victim, "and not her. Instead, they abduct her."

"Do you think she's still alive?" Ford asked, his eyes switching between each of the three men. Killian stepped away first, back towards the body.

"We never assume otherwise unless there's evidence," he said curtly, looking around the room. His eyes swept over the desk and as they did, he felt himself stiffen for a split second before continuing his revolution around the room. When he turned back to the team, he walked as if he hadn't noticed a thing and spoke without concern.

"Don't look now, but we're on camera," he said, to which the officer automatically froze. Killian walked leisurely from the room and was followed by the rest of the men who, once they were out in the hall, let the apprehension creep onto their faces.

David was immediately speaking to Killian, "Call ruby – see if she can trace the camera to a location or get any information from it."

He nodded; turning and heading back down the stair to the hall and then out onto the front porch. He pulled out his phone and it was only a moment before Ruby's familiar voice was answering him.

"Please give me something to do – I'm _so_ bored right now and Mrs Tipton's phone records are taking a surprisingly long while," she pleaded the second she picked up.

"I'm at 32 Carlotta Avenue, there's a laptop in here and the camera is activated – can you trace where the feed leads to?" he asked, for once skipping out on the sharp banter. As usual, Ruby took it in her stride, unaffected by the succinct demands as she tapped furiously at her keyboard. It was a good minute before she stopped typing.

"Um, Killian, it's going to take a while. I'll call you when I have something – go brood or something," she replied, hanging up on him before he could answer. A small smile dusted his lips in spite of the situation and he returned to the team just as David spoke.

"This team doesn't act like any team we've ever seen. There's clearly a dominant personality and subservient one but they shouldn't be swinging back and forth like this," he said, looking thoroughly bemused as he turned to Phillip, "You ever seen this in case history?"

The man shook his head and crossed his arms, "A mixture of extreme psychosis and a controlled individual? No. One of the most common indicators _of_ extreme psychosis is isolation."

Killian raised his eyebrow briefly, "They don't exactly play well with others." David kneaded his forehead with his eyes squinted tightly shut, the look of deep thought broadcasted openly on his face. He turned to Killian.

"Has Ruby found anything on a Gabriel in the records?"

He shook his head, "Not so far – she would have told me."

David let himself fall against the wall beside them, leaning against it and studying the staircase banister opposite him, "So why is he naming himself? _Twice_. I mean… he's certainly not worried about us getting that name."

"An alias, perhaps?" Phillip suggested half-heartedly.

"Or Gabriel doesn't actually exist," Killian whispered, almost to himself. He could almost hear the comical high-pitched ding of the light bulb that lit up in his head. His ice blue eyes landed on all of them, his thoughts whirring rapidly as pieces fell into place with silent clicks. Phillip, David and Officer Ford all looked at him impatiently and he wondered if it was how Henry felt on every single case.

"Gabriel was one of the archangels – what if we have one un-sub who's suffering from a delusion that he's actually an archangel?"

Phillip's eyes glazed over in thought, "That would explain the split personas working in harmony despite the contrasting dispositions." David nodded as well, spurred into action by the plausible hypothesis. His features hardened with some bleak realization and he looked fleetingly at one of the photographs of the happy couple lining the cream walls.

"If Mrs Gilmer is the woman mentioned in the passage – Jezebel – than she has an especially unpleasant death in her future."

8888

As they entered the precinct for the second time that day, the difference in atmosphere was noticeable. Even before one of the younger police officers made her way to them with a foreboding look, they could see it in the way the station was abuzz with activity – more so than usual.

The young officer spoke directly to David almost as soon as they walked through the double doors.

"Agent Nolan, your tech from Quantico is on the phone," she said, walking with them to the table set up at the front of the room. They gathered around it as the Unit Chief pressed the correct buttons and put the shrill voice on loud-speaker.

"Lucas," he answered curtly, sitting on the edge of the desk.

She huffed petulantly, "Don't you people answer your phones?"

Phillip was the one to answer apologetically, "We were driving back through the countryside – spotty cell signal," he explained. Ruby sighed dramatically and the sound of her chair wheeling across her office could be heard.

"Fine."

"What do you have for us, Ruby?" David asked, unperturbed by her brusque reply and deviation from the subject matter. Everyone knew that the brunette tech analyst didn't hold onto grudges; she hadn't even managed to stay angry at Emma when the blonde had recklessly jeopardized her life on a case the year before. Though Killian could swear he remembered hearing that Ruby had chewed her ass out for it. He nearly had too.

"If you think that first video went viral fast, the second one's going through the stratosphere," she commented cynically. Everyone surrounding the speaker shared anxious glances.

"What second video?" David asked.

"Yeah, there's a new video from your psycho – I'm sending it through now," she said. Phillip's laptop on the desk beeped the notification and Officer Ford moved alongside the latter to sit down in front of the desk.

"Thanks Ruby," Killian said, hanging up and heading over where the rest of the team were now waiting for the video to load. The screen was black for a few seconds before; once again, there was an image of a dark silhouette reading from a thick book in his hands. He spoke for a short moment, saying something about a woman named Jezebel but it was barely heard over the sound of dogs barking violently in the background. When the man stood up and walked away, the screen showed a woman – Mrs Gilmer.

Her arms were spread wide and tied to either side of some structure. She was kneeling on a mattress and a piece of duct tape stifled the desperate cries tearing their way up through her chest. Mrs Gilmer moved from side to side, trying in vain to get some kind of leeway and escape her binds.

Suddenly, her movements became more frantic and Killian soon realized why. The barking became louder and three dark figures entered the screen, barrelling towards the woman. Killian didn't look at the screen for long, turning his head away as the rest of the team gasped in horror.

"That's enough," David mercifully said.

Phillip raised his hand to shut the laptop when Officer Ford abruptly stopped him, "Wait!" he said. Killian levelled him with a look of disgust.

"You haven't seen enough?" he spat.

The officer shook his head, staring at the gruesome depiction on the screen, "Those dogs," he muttered vaguely, raising a finger to point at the animals tearing at Mrs Gilmer's flesh.

"Those three dogs attacked someone a couple of months ago!" he said, turning to David, Phillip and Killian, "I would have had them impounded but the victim knew the owner – a neighbour – and he didn't want to press charges."

David raised his eyebrows dubiously, "You sure?"

Officer Ford nodded fervently, shutting the laptop now that he was affirmative. He headed to a desk a short distance away, opened one of the drawers and fished around momentarily before producing a small, black, leather-bound notepad. He walked briskly back towards them, already flicking through the pages.

"I knew those dogs looked sick," he muttered indignantly, "I called animal control but I don't know if they ever followed up on it – here it is." He'd located the page and handed it to David.

The Unit Chief took it from him and read over the page, his eyes stopping on some detail and widening marginally. He thrust the notepad at Killian and immediately turned to Phillip.

"Can you call Henry?"

He shrugged, unsure, "I don't know – remember the spotty cell signal?"

Apprehension sweeping over him fast, Killian looked down at the notepad in an attempt to identify the source of his superior's sudden onset of anxiety. The offence had been committed the previous year on a property about an hour away, the victim's name was Harrison Curt and…

_Shit._

Killian felt as though a brick had slid down through his chest and into his stomach. At the bottom of the page, in gruff handwriting was the name of the owner of the dogs: Anthony Reed.

Emma and Henry.

_Shit._

* * *

**Please don't force me to beg - review?**

**Oh, and for those of you who don't know - I'm currently holding a vote on my tumblr about what dress you think Emma should wear to the gala. I've drawn four options and you've got a couple of weeks before I'll need the final choice. It's under the tag: "Emma Swan Dress Vote" and is on my tumblr.**


	7. Chapter 7

**I have a feeling the next couple of reviews will be in caps lock. ****Just know, this hurt me to write so... *run away and calls over shoulder* don't kill me.**

**Cudos to Nicole for beta-ing.**

* * *

The Reed Ranch was a rundown wooden house with a sagging roof and a broken front window. The grass spanning the front was brown and out back she could see the top of a red, surprisingly well-kept barn. It was odd that a person might take better care of their garage than their home and it was something Emma pondered as she dawdled up to the house alongside Henry.

The young man had eyed her the entire trip and she knew exactly what he wanted to know: what was going on between her and Killian. It obviously hadn't gone unnoticed; her subtle attempt to avoid being alone with him by enlisting Henry's assistance in this lead. She grimaced just thinking about the look David had levelled her with – it screamed admonishment and she just _knew_ he would be giving her another 'talk' on the way back to Quantico.

They approached the porch and scaled the creaky stairs warily, termites a formidable option given the state of the house. When they reached the door Emma knocked four times and waited.

"So – what was that back there?" Henry's voice whispered inconspicuously. The blonde turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

"Seriously? An hour-long car trip and _now_ is when you decide you want to talk?"

He shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets, waiting patiently for her to respond. Emma sighed and faced the door as she answered.

"Maybe I just wanted to spend some quality time with you," she said sarcastically, which only earned her a scoff from the young man behind her. She imagined he was about to reply when the door suddenly opened and Emma quickly put on a polite smile to greet the man at the threshold. He had dark blonde hair that nearly covered his eyes and stubble that was bordering on scruff. His green eyes scanned her form warily, his silhouette blocking any view inside the dilapidated house.

"Hi, Mr Reed?" Emma asked.

His eyes were almost doe-like with their innocence and he nodded, "Yeah?"

"We're from the FBI – I'm Agent Swan, this is Agent Simmons," she said, pointing behind her to where Henry pulled out his identification to affirm what she'd said. Anthony nodded a vague response, acknowledging their credentials but unmoving in his position in the doorway.

"Can we come in?" Henry inquired lightly.

The man looked inside for a moment and turned back to Henry with an apologetic look on his soft face, "I'm sorry. I don't let anyone in the house." It wasn't completely uncommon for people to be distrusting – even of the authorities, so Emma and Henry nodded understandingly.

"You witnessed something a few months ago that might be very helpful to us," she began, smiling hopefully at him – a technique that typically softened up people she was interrogating and made them more malleable for her questions. However, Anthony's face scrunched up slightly in confusion, his eyebrows rising infinitesimally.

"I did?"

"You saw someone go over a wall into a yard and called the police?" she queried. Again, however, the man appeared confused.

"Me?"

She frowned, "You didn't?"

He looked genuinely remorseful and shrugged half-heartedly, "Sorry."

The lack of definitive answers made it impossible for Emma to get an absolute read on him and she cocked her head to the side inquisitively. She could feel Henry shift his weight uncomfortably behind her.

"There's a report on file that lists you as calling nine-one-one… you were walking a dog?" Emma said, trying to prompt a sudden recollection in the man standing before them. He still appeared at a loss but the blonde felt something whisper deceit in the recesses of her mind. She crooked an eyebrow as she waited for him to respond and when he finally did, he smiled feebly.

"No, that's wrong – I don't have any dogs."

_Lie_.

Emma kept her expression unfazed as she pursed her lips and looked behind her at Henry. The young man was already pivoting on his heel to leave and the blonde nodded in the direction of Anthony who was slowly backing away from the door.

"Well, sorry to bother you," she said and he returned the exchange before shutting the door. Henry was already down the porch steps when Emma leaped down them lithely and jogged quickly to him, grasping his arm and turning him around.

"He lied."

"What?" he asked, eyebrows shooting up in evident misunderstanding.

"He lied about not having dogs – and he never gave me a definitive answer about whether he called or not, though he acted like he didn't," she replied, looking back at the neglected old house with barely narrowed eyes, "I mean, why bother calling the police in the first place if you were just going to pretend you didn't?" Emma rotated back to face Henry whose eyes were focused on the ground, his mouth slackening – a sign that generally meant he'd come up with some form of explanation.

His mouth moved silently and he eventually met Emma's blue eyes in the dark night air.

"To gauge the response time," he said, scratching the crown of his head in thought, "if you wanted to kill somebody but you were going to call the police first, what would you need to know?"

Emma nodded and answered, "How long it takes them to get there."

Before she could say another word, Henry was jogging around the side of the house, past the front porch. With a muttered curse, she followed him, already drawing her weapon as they edged along the side of the house.

"Henry, wait!" she whispered harshly, following lightly over the dead grass.

Henry stopped in front of a window and peered inside, giving Emma the time to catch up to him. But just as she did, the kid straightened in shock and the blonde only just glimpsed through the window as Anthony Reed sprinted out of the room the window looked into. From the glance, Emma could see almost a dozen computer screens, each displaying different rooms – some with people, some empty.

A grip on her arm made her spin around to face the young agent, "Em, _he's_ the un-sub!" he said urgently. There was creaking noise followed by a loud smack of wood against wood that made them both jump. Henry took off towards the back of the house and Emma followed him easily, just in time to watch as Reed sprinted headlong towards the red barn. He pulled the large door open roughly and slammed it shut behind him.

The two agents ran through the night towards the barn and stopped to kneel by the corner.

Henry turned to Emma, his breath a little shallow from the adrenaline pumping through his body, "He's in there. Call David."

The blonde shook her head, "No signal – we're in the middle of nowhere, Henry."

"Damn it," he mumbled irascibly, pulling out his gun and holding it down towards the dirt, "What do you want to do?"

Emma shrugged, trying to weigh their options appropriately and finding it hard to do so. She felt a small part of her mind whisper treacherously that if she'd taken Killian instead, she'd have no problem deciding and that even if she did, he would know what to do. It wasn't that she had a problem with the kid – but it was a lot easier to take a risk when your partner was someone like Killian.

Evidently, Henry decided for her, standing up and walking towards the back of the barn before she could protest.

"You stay here – I'll go around back. David knows we're here and he'll come looking for us. We'll just wait him out," he explained diplomatically, shrugging before jogging around the corner and out of Emma's sight. She sighed and shook her head, locking her eyes onto the barn door and listening intently for any signs of someone approaching.

"Emma!" Henry called lightly, his voice just reaching her, "Emma, he's gone out back!"

The blonde rolled her eyes in exasperation and began to turn around when there was a large squeaking noise. Emma pivoted rapidly on the spot, automatically aiming her gun only to find the barn door had swung open.

Stomach churning, adrenaline pumping, she walked carefully towards the large entrance.

There was no light inside the barn, the only area visible the rectangular patch of light cast about by the house's porch. Blackness coated the edges of the barn and she could hear the ominous whine of rusted metal swaying in the night breeze.

Her gun held aloft, Emma scrutinized the shadows in vain, walking ever so slightly forward into the barn.

She stepped further in and could just make out metal chains hanging from some wooden structure to her right, the feint tinkling causing goosebumps to erupt across her skin. She shivered involuntarily and mentally shook herself; she'd seen and dealt with a lot of heinous things in her life – a dark barn wasn't about to get the best of her.

Emma realised with a self-effacing exhale of mixed relief and embarrassment that she had a small torch in her pocket. Maintaining her gun's position with her right hand, she reached into her back pocket with her left and pulled the cylindrical device out in front of her.

As it clicked on, a beam of white light shot forward and illuminated the weathered red panels of the back wall of the barn.

She took another step forward and there was the sickening sound of her boot landing in something thick and sticky. Emma's eyes flitted down, followed by the torch light, to where her shoe had landed in a copious puddle of blood. But it wasn't simply a puddle, it was a long stream.

Identifying this, Emma swallowed and followed the line of blood with the torch to where it ended at a red-soaked mattress. There was something unidentifiable atop the crimson bed and the blonde had to force herself to swallow again as she just barely recognized what appeared to be the ravaged flesh of a head, torso and limbs. Bile rose up in her throat, but the gag reflex was shut down when she heard something.

Suddenly, there was a growling sound.

Emma's head immediately snapped up, shining the torch in the direction of the noise and stumbling when it landed on a large black dog – its feral eyes locked onto hers as it pulled back its lips to reveal pink-stained teeth. She took a deep breath and mentally prepared herself to deal with the canine when there was another snarl to her right.

The torch revealed another black dog and a low grumble indicated a third to its left.

She took a marginal step back, her mind racing and heart beating painfully against her ribcage.

Their growls deepened and Emma stopped moving backwards, desperately trying to calm her breathing so as to think logically about the situation. Before she could even begin to arrange her thoughts, there was a loud bark and she could hear them running at her. She moved backwards, locking her sights onto the closest one and firing one, twice, three times, until she heard a strangled whimper.

But the other two were still rushing at her and she only managed to shoot the left one before the other lunged up at her.

Emma just narrowly dodged it, pivoting rapidly to engage it as it came at her again; teeth bared and claws scrambling. She walked backwards again as it stayed on the spot, hackles raised and lip curled back. It lowered its head, its glowing white eyes locked on Emma's as she moved away slowly.

She was aiming up her shot when her foot hit something soft and she tumbled backwards, a bloodcurdling scream tearing its way out of her chest. As she landed on her back, she dropped her gun and her left arm landed in a puddle of blood, coating it in the sticky substance. The dog barked piercingly and she could hear its rapid approach.

Emma pushed herself backwards, scrambling around for her gun frantically as she heard the angry animal closing in.

Her fingers searched the dirt around her, paying no mind when they came up wet.

The dog could only have been two meters away when she felt her fingertips brush something metal. Emma reached for it without thought, snatching at the firearm and pulling it up in front of her. She didn't have time to aim as she fired off another three shots in the general direction of the snarling.

There was another high-pitched keen and then silence as a limp body thudded to the ground.

She could still feel herself trembling and Emma continued to shove herself backwards until she hit the back wall of the barn, her arm scarping violently against the splintered wood. She sat up against it and tried to slow her shallow breathing, clenching her trembling fists and concentrating on the sound of her pulse pumping erratically.

Her eyes stayed locked on the front of the barn and she gripped the gun tightly in her hands, ready to aim and fire again if need be.

Emma didn't know how long she was there, sitting up against the back wall of the barn with her gun aimed at the door, ready for another onslaught. It felt like seconds but was surely longer; she didn't even register the sound of the sirens in the distance growing louder, or the car tires grinding against the dirt as they came to an abrupt halt. She didn't even hear the mass of black-clad agents approaching the barn.

It wasn't until there was a cluster of people entering the barn that she stood up of her own volition, gun at the ready as their flashlights blinded her.

Instinctively, she should have shot. But when she heard the familiar voices urging her to lower the gun, a feeling of relief washed over her like a cool shower. Emma peered into the bright flashlights until they were lowered enough for her to make out Phillip and Killian's concerned faces.

They stared at her with eyes full of worry and she let the weapon drop from her grip as her eyes flitted down to the bodies of the dogs, to where a small pool of blood had seeped from their fatal wounds.

"I had to," she murmured weakly, "I had no choice – they came at me… they tore that person apart, there's barely anything left."

The two men walked towards her warily, exchanging glances as they neared her. Killian was the first to reach her and he tucked his gun away before gently grabbing her right arm and turning her towards him.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, eyes raking down her left arm covered in dried blood. She didn't respond and looked over to the person's mangled body on the mattress. He used his other hand to tilt her chin towards him, the piercing blue holding her gaze carefully.

He reiterated his question, "Emma, are you hurt?"

She shook her head and he scrutinized her one more time for good measure.

"Anthony Reed is our un-sub," she said, meeting both their eyes.

Phillip nodded, "We know."

Emma's eyes drifted to the mattress and something akin to revulsion skittered up her spine at the grisly image.

"They tore that person apart, I could barely tell –"

"_Emma_," Phillip said firmly, barely drawing her attention again. Evidently, she'd missed what he'd said because she'd been caught up in her own horrific observations. Emma turned to him with a vague stare and she heard Killian's voice beside her.

"Emma, look at me," he said calmly, searching her eyes and maintaining her stare, "Where's Henry?" he asked slowly, enunciating every word distinctly. If it weren't for her still hazy mind, Emma might have glared at him for such sheer condescension. But something else seemed to snap her to attention – the fog that clouded her thoughts clearing as though she'd cracked open a window.

"We split up and he went out back," she said, watching as Phillip nodded and turned to the back door of the barn. Three of the officers accompanied him out and Killian moved to stand beside Emma, placing his hand on her back and gently leading her out of the barn. She stumbled ever-so-slightly near the body of one of the dogs and his other hand gripped her upper arm firmly for support.

She concentrated on the heat of his palm as they made their way out of the dark barn, towards the ambulance van already waiting and ready.

Killian let her sit down on the back of the ambulance and obligingly backed away to give the paramedic some space. But she could still feel his eyes on her as her arm was wiped of the blood and she was checked for bite marks. When none were found but the long scrap caused by the barn's panelling the paramedic produced a bottle of disinfectant and a small cotton pad, wiping it along the scratch and prompting Emma to hiss at the burning pain.

From her spot at the ambulance van, Emma could see as Phillip approached Killian with a grim look. He said something she couldn't hear and walked back the way he'd came, the latter of the two rubbing his forehead anxiously. When a bandage had been applied to her upper arm, the paramedic took out a small torch and shined it in both of her eyes.

The blonde waited patiently for the paramedic to complete his check-up but was told to wait a moment while he checked something else.

Emma tapped her foot on the dirt irritably, her eyes tracing the brown specks of grass while she waited. She was surprised when she looked up to find Killian had moved closer with his arms folded across his broad chest.

"What's Phillip worried about?" she asked, scrutinizing him. He took a deep breath and swiped his tongue across his bottom lip nervously.

"We can't find Henry. He followed Reed into the cornfield and it looks like somebody got dragged."

8888

Once, when Emma was twelve, she'd broken her arm – and for once the injury hadn't been the result of enraging her foster parents with her 'rebellious' habits. She'd been riding her bike; more accurately, she'd been trying to ride the rusting device she'd adopted from the very back of the garage. It squeaked with every revolution of the pedals and the bell was broken. The blue paint was chipped and faded and the handles didn't have black rubber comforters.

Nevertheless, as a child she'd seized any opportunity to get out of the flawless family façade. Looking back, Emma believed that even if she hadn't found the bike, she'd have found something to preoccupy her from her life.

It was after school one day and she'd been riding the beloved, albeit broken down, bike. The asphalt road was bumpy and it took considerable effort in some areas to keep the bike from skidding to the ground. She reached the street corner that led to her house, already dreading the inevitable verbal assault she would receive for loitering around the streets so late in the afternoon.

So caught up in her own head, she didn't realize the front wheel of her bike heading towards a large black rock disguised by the ebony road.

As it hit the rock, the bike swung around and Emma lost her grip. She tried to break and lurched forward at an awkward angle. Her natural instincts were to shield herself or break her fall and thus her arms automatically stretched out in front of her.

There was a painful crunch as she landed on the road and an audible cracking sound that didn't come from the bike tumbling to the ground. There was a long moment, before she began screaming and crying for help, where she held her breath and the world was eerily silent. Her muscles were temporarily numb, her nerve endings muted as the moment extended before lighting in agonizing fire.

Emma never thought she'd feel that numbness again; the ominous feeling of silence before a hurricane of pain tore you to shreds.

But she did as she stared down at the handwritten book in her hands – Anthony Reed's diary. She'd read the page beneath her fingers four times and the words were still failing to make sense. Phillip flicked through a photo album and Killian sat opposite Emma, reading through another of the diaries.

She could hear as someone entered the house, the door creaking open and then banging shut.

The voices of two people drifted into the room and became louder as they approached. She had the two cadences marked before they even entered the room: it was David and Ruby. Their tech analyst had been flown in the moment they learned of Henry's abduction. She was all too eager to be with the team and Emma found herself thankful for the brunette's company.

As Ruby entered, her hair tied up in a high ponytail, the staple heels replaced with sensible kitten heeled Mary-Janes, Emma looked up and shut the book in her hands, earmarking the page first.

"Welcome to our nightmare," she greeted Ruby morosely.

David pointed to the room with the multitude of computer screens, "His computers are an extension of his brain – I need you to dissect them for me," he ordered. Ruby nodded ardently, her eyes flickering to each of the harried agents and landing on Emma. She gave her a small sympathetic smile just as Killian caught the crook of her elbow and pulled her lightly towards the other room.

"Come on," he urged, "I'll get you set up."

As they exited the room, David faced Phillip and Emma again, "So nothing new since I left?"

The blonde propped her elbow on the edge of the table and let the side of her head fall into her hand. She blew out a deep breath and glanced down at the diary she'd been reading.

"Well, the good thing is that he documented basically every second of his life. Bad news is – we're still un-piling," she said.

David looked around the room and his eyes landed on her, "Come on – we'll check out his bedroom." Emma nodded and pushed herself away from the table before standing up. She still felt shaky, the fatigue settling deep in her bones. From the moment Killian had told her about Henry's status she'd been unable to rest throughout the night. Even when David demanded she take a rest she had outright refused and continued working. Apparently, the look in her eyes had been enough to make the Unit Chief back down, his superiority momentarily trumped by Emma's temperament.

As she followed him into the room, the purifying sunlight slanting in through the ratty curtains, Emma found herself studying the piles of junk lining the room. She flicked briefly though each one until she landed at a small mound of papers on his bedside table.

She picked up the first thing on the pile, a piece of brown paper that had been folded over and flattened it out. It was a list of numbers and, judging by the titles, they were for narcotics anonymous groups. Emma turned to where David was studying the floral wallpaper and held the small sheet aloft.

"Hey, I've got a list of narcotics anonymous groups," she turned the page over. There was a name and number scribbled almost unintelligibly, "There's also a name and number on the back."

"Try it," he said absentmindedly and she walked closer to him to see what he was doing. His finger traced a strange line up the wall to where it curved off. The wallpaper appeared to be loose and David fingered the small triangular edge idly before both their eyes landed on something beneath it. There was feint grey handwriting.

Emma sidled up to the Unit Chief, watching as he pulled back the fraying edge with a satisfying '_schlick.'_ The surface beneath it was a dull yellow; but it was the continuous writing that made them both gasp. The elegant cursive ran in uniform lines across the wall. David read the lines as his fingertips ghosted over the foreign dialect.

_Honora patrem tuum._

"Honour thy father."

_Non furtum facies._

"Thou shalt not steal."

_Facies: Non adulterabis. _

"Thou shalt not commit adultery."

Emma's head spun, "Is that Latin?" she frowned at the wall and David nodded in reply. They both started when Killian's voice came from outside the house.

"Hey guys! I think I found something!" he called and David and Emma were both snapped immediately to attention, jogging from the room and out of the house. They followed his voice to the side of the structure, near the window that Henry had looked in through. The edge of the house was surrounded by piles of hay, heaped up in a way that masked anything that might lie on the ground beneath. Killian was kicking away some of the hay as they moved towards him, his foot hitting wood when he stumbled slightly. There appeared to be a wooden cellar underneath the house. When the majority of the hay was clear, Killian stood in front of the two wooden flaps, preparing to open them and descend into the basement.

As they closed in on him, drawing their own weapons, he opened one of the latches and called out, "Anthony Reed, FBI." Dead leaves on the ground were swept up by the wind and fell down onto the stairs leading into the dark crevice.

Killian turned to David for instruction, and the latter nodded for him to proceed.

He took the first step down, his flashlight turned on. Emma followed behind them and was relieved when her partner found a light switch and decided to flick it. Light bulbs overhead illuminated the small space and the blonde shivered at the decided drop in temperature. The source of which, she saw, was the large ice blocks lining the walls.

She almost didn't notice the slumped over figure sitting down against the wall to her left.

Killian was the first to turn, his cerualean eyes landing firmly on the man and walking closer.

"Anthony Reed, FBI," he repeated loudly, his flashlight still locked onto the person's head. The three of them moved towards him and the smell that wafted into Emma's nostrils made her gag. She lowered her gun to shield her nose with her arm.

David and Killian let their weapons drift down as well as the former kneeled in front of the hunched figure. Now closer, Emma could see the purplish tint to his skin and the deep red – almost black – bullet wound in Owen Reed's – Anthony's father's – forehead.

8888

It was late afternoon when Officer Ford's squad car pulled up and Emma almost launched herself from her seat when she heard the vehicle's engine cut out. She'd been reading the un-sub's diaries all day and the scrawled handwriting had started meshing into endless lines, incapable of being processed by her numbed brain. She set the weathered book face-down, keeping her place and calmly pushing away from the table.

Killian set down the diary he was reading too and followed Emma out of the house. They had reached the front porch when Officer Ford stepped out of his car. Emma and Killian descended the small staircase to meet him halfway and the former was immediately begging for information.

"Did they find anything?" she asked, unable to stop the desperate lilt to her tone.

Officer Ford shoved his hands in the pockets of his police jacket, "The coroner put Owen Reed's death at approximately six months ago." Killian chewed his bottom lip in thought before looking around them, realization dawning on his face.

"That must have been the stressor," he said.

The man in front of them frowned, his face resembling crumpled bed-sheets, "Stressor?"

Emma subdued the urge to insist he concisely divulge any other information, her patience wearing thin despite the lack of actual time lost. She was finding it awfully hard to think straight and bit down on her lip as Killian explained.

"His father's death is probably what set him off – what we need to do is focus on that time period, see what was going on in his life and maybe we can get a key to where he's hiding out," he said. Officer Ford nodded in understanding and was silent, evidently sucked dry of the little information he had. Emma held her tongue and whipped around, wasting no time with pleasantries as she marched back to the house. Killian's footfalls were loud enough that she could hear him more than feel his presence as he sidled up to her.

"You realise he's trying to help?" he commented lightly.

Emma didn't look at him but her gaze narrowed, "Not if he's wasting our time."

She felt his hand grasp her upper arm and she stopped to face him, eyes alight with a mixture of contradicting emotions. He scrutinized her heavily for a long moment, something akin to concern blinking in the icy blue depths before being snuffed out as she ripped her arm away.

"Don't snap at me," he said softly.

"I'm not – but we don't have all day to explain BAU terminology to half-wits while Henry's still God-knows-where with that fucking psycho!" she replied in a harsh whisper, not wanting her teammates in the next room to overhear.

The silence was stifling as they held each other's stare, until finally a look of understanding and resignation clicked in her partner's eyes.

"Have you checked out that name and number you found in Reed's room yet?" he asked, the change of topic his way of throwing out a life boat in the stormy sea that was their friendship. Emma thankfully grabbed a hold of it, shaking her head in return. The blonde had yet to check out the owner of the details, too consumed by translating the ramblings of Anthony Reed to spare a second thought since that morning.

"Well, how about you and Phillip go check it out?" he suggested, looking to the door that led to the next room, "It'd probably do you some good to get away from here for an hour or two."

To her great dismay, Emma found herself agreeing with him, nodding feebly and pushing her hair behind her ears. She didn't meet his eyes again as she stepped around him and into the other room, instantly seeking out the British member of their team. He was looking around the room when she entered; his glasses perched on his nose.

"Phillip," she called, requesting his attention and motioning outside when he looked up, "Want to come check out a lead?"

He nodded, taking off his spectacles and folding them as he walked towards her. As he did, Killian passed through the door, his chest brushing up against her back marginally as he slid through and resumed his previous position at the table. He didn't look up once as she left with Phillip.

8888

Michael Caldwell lived in a house similar to Anthony Reed's. But, where the paint on the latters' wooden panels was chipping, the former's appeared recently painted and where Reed's front porch was cluttered by an assortment of boxes and paper, Caldwell's deck was relatively clear of junk – save for a dirtied old rocking chair that Emma would bet had once been burdened by termites.

She eyed the house as it came into view, the car moving at a slow pace up the long dirt driveway. Phillip was driving and he too seemed to be sizing up the house. Although, his purpose was likely less tedious than hers, he was presumably making notes about the personality of the inhabitant based on the state of the house. From around the side of the house a man appeared with an axe in hand. He cocked his head to the side when he saw them and dropped the large object, leaning against the house and wiping his hands.

Phillip and Emma shared an apprehensive look before stopping the car and stepping out.

The man walked up to them, his eyes squinted shut against the afternoon sun.

"How can I help ya?" he asked brightly, shading his eyes with his palm so he could take a good look at them both. When the blonde scanned over his figure, she felt herself relax. There were wood chips clinging to his sun-faded jeans and the way he spoke and carried himself screamed self-deprecation.

She glanced at her teammate next to her and was unsurprised to see he had apparently made the same observations.

Phillip extended his hand with a warm smile, "I'm Agent Perrault and this is Agent Swan. We're from the FBI and we were wondering if we could speak to Michael Caldwell?"

The man smiled and returned the friendly gesture, "I'm him. What d'ya need?"

"We'd just like to ask you a few questions," Emma replied succinctly. Mr Caldwell chuckled and scratched the top of his head, mussing the long stringy grey hair that rested there.

"I don't remember having committed any crimes recently," he commented light-heartedly, clearing attempting to make a joke. Phillip chortled under his breath as Emma remained stoic, unmoved by the man's clear effort to break the ice. She would feel bad for making him uncomfortable if she weren't so consumed with keeping her emotions categorically in check.

Phillip gave Emma a look before talking to Mr Caldwell, "Do you remember this?" He pulled out the brown piece of paper that the blonde had handed him in the car and placed it in the calloused palm of the man in front of them. Mr Caldwell unfolded it and smiled ruefully.

"Anthony Reed… I haven't thought about that boy in about ten years," he said nostalgically, giving it back to Phillip.

"Are the two of you in a program together?" Emma asked, cocking her head to the side.

He shook his head, "No, but we were. That right there is ten years old," he replied, pointing a dirt-stained finger at the page Phillip was folding into his back pocket again.

"_Okay_," Emma said slowly, "so you _were_ in a program together?"

He shrugged, "I think he should be the one to tell ya, but yeah I was his sponsor – small town, we all get lumped together. I was just a drunk but Anthony? He was somethin' else."

"What was Reed's drug of choice?" Phillip inquired.

"Dilaudid."

Emma looked up with a frown, "Drug store heroin?"

Michael nodded, "He used to cut it with a psychedelic." The man paused and shook his head regretfully, scratching the back of his neck, "That boy was looking to get as far away from reality as possible. Addicts don't get excuses but… if anyone ever needed to be self-medicated, it was him."

"Why's that?" Phillip asked.

"You know anything about his Dad?" he countered with a dark look. Emma recalled their conversation earlier that day where they'd discussed the older man's death. Anthony Reed had a gun on the property that looked like it corresponded to that which was used on Owen Reed.

"We think Anthony may have murdered his father," Emma replied.

To their surprise, the dark look evaporated – replaced by satisfaction and unmasked delight. He smirked slightly and chuckled, "Good for him." Evidently, Emma and Phillip's combined expressions of confusion registered with Mr Caldwell because he continued speaking.

"Anthony's momma ran off with another man when he was seven – made his dad go section eight. Owen started preaching about crazy shit, apocalypse and doom. He beat Anthony silly, he even burned a cross into the poor boys forehead when he was ten. And if Anthony wore a hat, he'd beat him more."

Emma found herself inadvertently sympathizing with him, having suffered similar abuse in the foster system. She hated empathizing with a man who had killed three people but she had no control over the emotion flooding her brain. Every cell within her wanted to deny the way her considerations softened with this new information, so she ignored it and concentrated on situation before her.

"Does he have anyone he could turn to if he was on the run?" she asked, moving some hair out of her eyes.

"As far as I know, he never left home," he replied genuinely, eyeing them both apologetically. Emma turned to leave and Phillip stayed rooted to the spot, nodding as a means of gratitude and goodbye. She jumped into the car, putting on her seatbelt and pulling out her phone to text David the update. The driver's side door opened and Phillip sat down and started the car.

They drove back down the road and Emma put her phone away, all the while feeling the agent beside her glance every so often at her. When they reached the main road, a large stretch of asphalt that would take them all the way to the Reed Ranch, she turned to look at him.

"What's on your mind Phillip?" she asked dryly, bypassing the subtleties of preamble.

He glanced at her again and took a deep breath, almost as though he were readying himself, "How are you feeling?"

She frowned, her lip pulling into a tight line, "Um… fine? Why?"

"I'm the psychological expert on the team – I thought it might be prudent for me to check up on you since you suffered what many would consider a traumatic experience last night," he explained calmly, looking at her again. Emma rolled her eyes and looked out the window, shaking her head despite the cacophony in her head at the mention of the barn.

Flashes of the dogs running at her, trying to maul her, launching at her; the lump of flesh that had once been a woman; the darkness and silence that closed in around her when her shots had all been fired. Like a silent and rapid motion picture behind her lids as she blinked.

"I'm fine – we deal with this sort of stuff all the time," she lied.

Phillip raised an eyebrow to nothing in particular, keeping his eyes on the road, "Emma, this is _Henry_. This isn't just another case."

For some reason, the way he said it – almost accusing – set her teeth on edge. She turned to him with uncharacteristic sharpness (or at least, it was unusual for her to display animosity towards him).

"You don't think I know that?" she hissed angrily, her eyes widening in disbelief.

He shook his head desperately, "No, no! Emma… I just – you're under a lot of stress right now. I'm just making sure you're dealing with is okay. It's what friends do."

Emma leaned back into her seat, shaking her head and sighing. She rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes, realizing her mistake in antagonizing Phillip. This was the same guy who'd asked permission to hug her on her birthday because he knew she was unaccustomed to physical displays of emotion, the same guy who had cried on his first case where children had been killed, the same guy who had timidly asked her if she would mind driving him home when his car had broken down in their first week as teammates.

Phillip wasn't her enemy and he wasn't intentionally prying. He was just being Phillip.

She turned her head to look at him, guilt knotting in her abdomen as she observed his hurt expression.

"Sorry Phillip… but I am okay. I just really want to get to Henry," Emma murmured.

Phillip smiled half-heartedly, "We all do."

8888

When they re-entered the room where they'd set up a makeshift HQ, Emma walked straight towards the pin-board, tacking the list of narcotics anonymous numbers to it. Everyone had shifted around, David was standing at the head of the small dining table rifling through pictures and Killian and Ruby were absent – most likely in the allocated tech headquarters. David looked up when they entered and set down the photographs in his hands.

"Any luck with the lead?" he asked.

Phillip nodded, "It was Anthony's narcotics anonymous sponsor. He didn't give us any idea where Henry is being held but we did learn that he had a serious drug problem that was likely a result of severe abuse at the hands of his father."

"Drug of choice – Dilaudid," Emma pitched in, turning around once she'd successfully placed the sheet on the pin board.

David nodded solemnly, folding his arms across his chest, "Well that would explain the psychotic fracture that caused him to split his personalities in two. Judging by his diary entries, he was a singular unit up until his father became ill and demanded Anthony kill him. Unable to handle the contradictions with his morals, his mind split into two personalities to deal with it; Anthony and Gabriel the archangel."

"So he did kill his father?" the blonde clarified.

"Yes, he wrote it in his diary."

Just then, Officer Ford entered the small room. And, as per usual, his face was set in a mask of grim anticipation. Emma was going to hang a bell around his neck soon so they would be able to hear whenever bad news was coming.

"Well this could be some bad news," he said, making Emma scoff silently at the irony considering her prior thoughts, "A computer store was robbed in the middle of the night closer to the suburbs. The thief got away with four laptops – external hard drives – and a satellite."

"If its Anthony, it puts him right back in business," Phillip said morosely, rubbing his brow.

They all exchanged an exasperated look and Emma pulled out a chair at the table to sit down when Killian's voice, frantic and worried, rang loud and clear from the room next-door.

"Guys! Guys!" he called, his footsteps echoing as he clearly moved towards the door, "Get in here!" He appeared in the archway, the look of concern in his eyes making the blonde's chest turn to stone as a heavy weight slipped into the pits of her stomach. They stood up, all but running into the room and staring at the screen.

And as Emma made her way to stand behind Ruby's chair, she felt her heart seize up and stop beating.

Every single one of the dozen computer monitors set up before them displayed the same live stream. It was a dark room, neglected wooden floorboards and walls – it looked like an abandoned shed. But there was nothing unique, no feature that could be exploited for a location. But that wasn't the element of the frame that made Emma's mind stop buzzing and her eyes widen in horror.

Tied to a chair in the center of the rundown wooden room, head lolling forwards in exhaustion, bruises littering the exposed skin, eyes fluttering lightly in semi-consciousness, was Henry.

"Oh my god," Ruby murmured, disturbed.

"He's been beaten," Phillip observed grimly, studying the image on the screen.

Emma stood in shocked silence for a moment before she forced herself to think rationally. She turned to Ruby, her expression obviously manic – but she was far too disturbed by the matter at hand to care that she was broadcasting her emotions.

"Can you track the video?" she asked.

Ruby met Emma's gaze regretfully, "He's only streaming this video to his home computer."

David's brows drew together and his eyes hardened, "This is for us. He knows we're here."

Killian growled, shaking his head as fire flashed in his eyes, "I want this guy's head on a bloody stick."

"Why can't you track it?" Emma asked again, her eyes darting between each of the screens and the exact same image on each one. Ruby shook her head, typing erratically at the keyboard.

"He's rerouting to a different IP address every thirty seconds – I can't track him."

Suddenly, there was a deep voice coming from the video – somewhere behind the camera that was out of sight. Henry looked up at the sound, his eyes landing on the man. Emma felt herself grimace when she saw Henry flinch at the sound of the voice – she didn't want to know why.

"_You can really see inside men's minds?" _the voice said, "_See these vermin? Choose one to die and I'll let you choose one to live."_

On the screen, the young agent shook his head softly, a barely audible "_No_," escaping his lips.

"_I thought you wanted to be some kind of saviour_," the voice roared, the back of a man coming into view on the left of the screen.

Henry's eyes stayed on the man as he spoke, his voice broken and cracked, "_You're a sadist who's had a psychotic break. You won't stop killing and your word's not true._" There was a pregnant pause before the man stepped closer again, his full silhouette blocking Henry from view. He pointed to the camera and began walking around the back of the chair.

"_The other heathens are watching_," he said and Henry's eyes instantaneously flickered up to the camera. Emma's breath caught in her throat, feeling as though the young agent were staring right at her. He let his gaze drop back to the floor as who could only be Gabriel strode back around to stand before him.

"_Choose a person to die and I'll say the name and address of the person to be saved,"_ he said.

There was another pause before Henry looked up at Gabriel, chin held defiantly despite the obvious fear he felt. Always such a brave kid.

"_I won't choose who gets slaughtered and have you leave the remains behind like a poacher,_" he said, glancing at the camera twice. Emma watched the screen intently, wishing just this once that Henry wasn't so pure of heart, that he wasn't so defiant and stubborn. She didn't care that choosing would mean an inevitable death, in that moment she wanted him to co-operate – she wanted him to survive.

There was a growl from the monitor as Gabriel lent down and grasped Henry's shoulders, jerking him roughly up off the chair and hissing into his terrified face, "_You really seen in my mind boy? Than you should see I'm not a liar!_"

Henry's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed and Emma's throat dried up at the look on his face.

"_Choose one to live and one to die – or else they'll all die._" He dropped Henry back into the chair with a resounding crack, and the young agent winced. Again; silence except for the sound of Henry's deep breathing.

And then, "_No._"

Emma watched as Gabriel's arm rose up and fell, striking him in the face so he nearly fell off the chair. Ruby gasped, her hand moving to cover her mouth as Killian growled a deep primal sound. Henry pulled himself back up and the man delivered another blow, making him cry out in pain as he keeled over on the seat. Emma felt as though with each strike she was being stabbed in the abdomen, the knife twisting with each pained breath of their youngest agent.

Gabriel raised his hand to strike again and faltered, lowering it and jerking out Henry's arm. He saw something there and spat in disgust.

"_You're pitiful, just like Anthony." _He let go of Henry's arm and paced towards the camera, eyes glowering with animal rage. Emma felt fear well up in her chest, expanding so that she felt like she might burst as Gabriel pivoted and walked angrily back to Henry.

"_This ends now. Confess your sins."_

Henry retracted into the chair, his face betraying the terror he felt. When silence met Gabriel's demand, he struck the young man once. He coughed and spat something onto the floor – and Emma blanched when she realised what it was: blood.

"_Confess!"_ Gabriel roared, hitting him again.

Henry's voice broke, "_I haven't done anything!_" he insisted, looking up at his attacker with pleading eyes. "_Anthony – Anthony please,_" he murmured.

Emma felt her heart break in two, especially when Gabriel loomed threateningly over Henry, "_He can't help you! He's too weak!" _Henry's strangled cry reverberated in the depths of Emma's bones and she felt herself begin to shake, her hands clenching tightly over the back of Ruby's chair.

"_Confess!_" he bellowed, so loud it almost echoed in the small room. Emma didn't have to hear his reply to know he'd refused, nor did she need to watch the screen to know what would come next. Gabriel's fist moved upwards this time, knocking Henry in the chin and sending the chair back. They all gasped when the furniture hit the floor, along with their teammate.

Suddenly, Henry's chest started to heave, his breath coming out irregularly as his body writhed on the ground. His mouth formed a large 'O' as he struggled for breath, the sound that escaped his throat making Emma's own breathing increase. Her eyes were glued to the screen, unable to look away as Henry began to have a fit. She gripped the back of the chair tighter, her gaze darting between the young agent and his captor looking down at him with disgust. Distantly, she registered a hand landing comfortingly on her shoulder but she had no attention to disperse.

Ruby's voice came from in front of her, hushed and frantic, "He's killing him."

Henry's body lifted up off the ground again, and then, with a resounding thud, his back hit the floor and he stopped moving. His eyes rolled back, his head shaking from side to side in tight feverish movements. And then he was still and Emma felt like the world had collapsed in on itself.

She watched as Gabriel left the room, slamming the door shut on his way out.

She didn't look away from Henry's motionless body, even as she felt the hand on her shoulder tighten and try to pull her back. In the chair in front of her, Ruby didn't move though judging by the sound of her breathing, she was on the verge of a panic attack.

The grip on her shoulder tightened again and was harsher when it pulled back and Emma still held onto the chair. She couldn't look away; she couldn't comprehend what she was seeing.

"Emma," someone said to her left, drawing a morsel of her attention.

He would get up. He had to get up.

This time, when the grip on her arm tried to pull her back she jerked herself away sharply. And it was as though she'd jarred herself back to reality and it dawned on her that it wasn't Ruby who was hyperventilating – but her. Emma's breaths were quick and shallow and her lungs burned from the lack of oxygen.

She turned to her left and realized it had been Killian whose hand had landed on her shoulder and he put his hand on it again as she faced him.

"Emma, calm down – _breathe_," he instructed futilely.

Emma shook her head, attempting to enlist his suggestion but finding herself unable to force the air in and out with the mantra in her head that Henry could be dead. David was beside her partner, his concerned gaze flickering between her and the screen until eventually it stayed locked on the screen.

Emma followed his gaze, as did Killian and her heart picked up in pace when she saw what was there.

The man had re-entered the room and was now frantically applying CPR on Henry. The seconds ticked by and silence encased the room. It looked like Anthony had returned, having taken over from Gabriel with all his compassion and sympathy. He beat at Henry's chest periodically, blowing air into his lungs with what appeared to be a knowledgeable technique.

Anthony continued to work until, mercifully, as he moved his hands to repeat the pressing pattern, Henry's chest heaved of its own accord and he sucked in a deep breath, coughing and spluttering.

Emma nearly fell down with relief, only to remind herself that they weren't out of the woods yet – a fact that was reinforced when Anthony stood up and his posture changed dramatically. Gabriel was back.

"_You came back to life,_" the man said impassively.

Henry coughed, "_I was given CPR,"_ he replied with great effort.

Gabriel shook his head.

"_There are no accidents – how many people are on your team?_" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

Henry closed his eyes in thought, "_Six._"

Gabriel frowned, "_There's supposed to be seven – but perhaps one of you was defeated… The seven angels who ride the seven trumpets –"_

"He thinks we're the seven archangels," David said, momentarily drawing Emma's attention away from the muted ravings of the man on screen. Her eyes stayed on Henry's frail form, but she tuned into the conversation behind her.

"The seven angels of death," Phillip whispered.

Gabriel pushed Henry's chair back into position with him still on it, his head lolling forward tiredly. He grimaced in pain, rolling his shoulders ever-so-slightly and biting down on his lip.

"_Tell me who you serve,"_ Gabriel said in a commanding voice. Emma waited for Henry to respond, hoping desperately that he would understand what the un-sub was asking and answer correctly. He wasn't likely to get two second chances.

"_I serve you_," he murmured, lifting his head and watching Gabriel.

"_Then choose one to die._"

Henry's eyes widened and he recoiled, "_What?_"

"_One of your team-members – choose one to die,_" he said, unforgiving and unrelenting.

Emma stiffened as the command resounded in her head – choose one to die. Henry – sweet, loving, naïve Henry – being told to select one of the people he cared about most for death. If he'd been determined before when Gabriel had demanded he choose a stranger, he was immovable now.

Henry's chin jutted out defiantly – you wouldn't know that he'd just escaped death by the skin of his teeth, "_No."_

Gabriel shook his head, "_You said you weren't one of them_."

"_I lied._"

"_Tell me who dies,"_ the man repeated, unperturbed by the young man's resolve.

"_No_."

Gabriel's arm moved behind him and with one fluid movement he produced a small firearm from his side. He loaded the revolver with one bullet and spun it, clicking it into place before lifting the gun to Henry's head. The safety clicked as Gabriel pulled it back, "_Choose._"

* * *

**Probably don't even need to ask but... review?**

**And don't forget to cast your vote for Emma's FBI Gala Dress! (Under the tag 'Emma Swan Dress Vote')**


	8. Chapter 8

**_ONE MORE MOTHERCHUKIN DAY_! **

**I am uploading this chapter now, before my death, so you may have at least some semblance of closure. On another note - thank you so much for your support and reviews! I just want to give you all chocolate chip cookies with extra chocolate chips. Cudos to Nicole the fabulous for beta-ing.**

* * *

"_Choose_," the man on the screen demanded, pointing the gun at Henry's head. Killian's fists clenched as he watched the young man recoil before swallowing and opening his eyes to meet Gabriel's stare dead-on. _Defiant to the end,_ Killian thought morbidly. Beside him Emma was stiff as a board, her eyes locked onto the monitor with unmatched concentration. On his other side David was rubbing his chin nervously.

They were all silent as they waited.

There was a resounding click as Gabriel pulled the trigger and nothing happened. Henry didn't move though, staring unflinchingly up at his captor.

"_Choose_," he commanded mercilessly.

Henry shook his head almost imperceptibly, "_I won't do it._"

There was another click. Ruby jumped this time when the gun failed to go off and he glanced at Emma to gauge her reaction. It was the first time he'd seen her completely unguarded; her face portraying every single emotion as it crossed her mind. The obvious and potent pain it was causing her to see this only fueled the rage and hatred he felt towards Anthony Reed – fucked up multiple-personality or no.

"_Life is a choice_," Gabriel said indifferently, pulling the trigger again.

Click.

"_No,_" Henry murmured.

Click.

"_Choose._"

Killian saw as something strange flickered in the kid's eyes; not fear or even acceptance but realization. He looked down at the ground and bit his lip for a moment before opening his mouth as if trying to figure out what to say. Gabriel pulled the firearm back marginally, staring at Henry until finally he stuttered out a response.

"_I choose… David Nolan_."

Ruby gasped and Killian and Phillip both turned to look at their Unit Chief with a mixture of shock and confusion. David simply continued to stare at the screen, his hand dropping from his chin as he searched the monitors for something no one else could see.

"_He's a classic narcissist – thinks he's better than everyone else on the team. Genesis 23, 4: Let him not deceive himself and trust in emptiness, vanity, falseness and futility, for this shall be his recompense,"_ Henry said, glancing at the camera once. Gabriel lifted the gun again but aimed it above his head.

There was a resounding boom as he pulled the trigger and a shot was successfully fired into the wall behind Henry. It didn't go amiss to Killian that the kid had just escaped death again by a hair's breadth – one more defiant refusal and Henry's brain matter may well have been splayed across the dirty corrugated iron wall behind him. As the gunshot resonated in the small room on the screen, the monitor was suddenly black and everyone stood in motionless silence for a long moment. Suddenly, David spun on his heel and stormed out of the room. Phillip and Killian were immediately following him to their makeshift HQ where he picked up a book and started rifling through it frantically.

As he turned around, he looked up at them, "I'm not a narcissist."

Phillip put a hand on the back of one of the chairs, "You can't take what he said to heart – he knows you're the toughest on our team –"

"No, stop! Seriously, stop," David insisted, his expression lacking in the antagonism one might expect after being called an egotistical narcissist. His eyes darted between the two men and he stumbled trying to vocalize his thoughts.

"Okay, both of you – what's my worst quality?"

Killian exchanged an unsure glance with Phillip, silence enveloping the room. David sighed, "Okay, I'll start. I'm sometimes a drill sergeant."

Killian nodded in agreement, "You often pry into our lives." David nodded affirmation, looking to Phillip for more. The British man shrugged and fumbled for words for a moment.

"You – um – sometimes… you blatantly ignore the rules if it means getting a job done," he suggested meekly. Killian shook his head minutely and looked towards the Unit Chief who nodded all the same, though there was a glint of affection in his eyes as he considered the psychological expert who clearly had a difficult time seeing the worst in others. _British through and through_, Killian thought to himself.

"All true," David conceded, "But neither of you said that I ever put myself above the team because I don't - _ever_." The two agents nodded, waiting for him to elucidate.

"Henry and I argued about the definition of classic narcissism at the Super bowl party and he _knew_ that I would remember that. And he also quoted Genesis, chapter twenty-three, verse four." He pointed to the book in hand and Killian realized it was a bible. David handed it over to him, keeping it spread open on the page with whatever it was he wanted them to see. Phillip moved closer to him to look over his shoulder at the writing on the page.

"I am a stranger and a sojourner with you: give me a possession of a burying place with you, that I may bury my dead out of my sight," Phillip read aloud, looking up with a furrowed brow.

David shook his head, a rueful smile dusting his lips, "He wouldn't get it wrong unless it was on purpose."

_Smart kid_.

"He's at a cemetery."

8888

As it turned out, there were over fifty cemeteries in Florida in the area they were searching. Ruby was trying to narrow it down with the specs they'd given her but the tech analyst only had so much magic she could work. There were no new videos and the film of Henry had stopped streaming the moment he chose David as the next victim. The team weren't genuinely concerned about the Unit Chief's safety – they were, after all, together and even if they weren't it was a safe bet that the man could take care of himself.

When Killian had walked back to the room, Ruby was alone and she told him Emma had left quickly after them. And so, he found himself walking through the house in silent search of her – ignoring the voice that told him she would want to be alone.

When he entered the front room, he quickly recognized the person standing in the center. If her blonde hair hadn't given her away, the sound of her heavy breathing would have. He didn't find it at all strange that he could distinguish the sound of her inhale and exhale, especially after witnessing her on the verge of a panic attack earlier.

Killian looked around the dark musty room, his eyes committing everything to memory as he tried not to disturb Emma. He could only imagine what was occurring inside her head, having just been forced to bear witness to her own personal nightmare on a dozen computer screens while she stood helpless.

He knew the feeling all too well.

Heavy-set furniture cluttered the room, a large bookcase on the far wall full of old novels and encyclopaedias that looked to be in various dialects. There was an old brown lounge chair in the centre of the room that faced the window, the dirtied surface difficult but not impossible to look through.

Dust covered nearly everything except for the worn couch; the books, the intricately designed lamp, the newspapers that sat untouched on the small mahogany coffee table beside the chair. He kept his eyes on her as she looked up at the paneled ceiling, blinking rapidly.

When he took a step forward, the floorboards creaked and she turned, sniffing and then coughing to cover the vulnerable sound. His ice blue eyes burned into her and something strange and hostile crossed her features.

She looked away, out the window to where the corner of the barn where she'd been attacked by the dogs could just be seen. Emma flinched, her hand reaching for the small bandage around her upper arm where she'd been cut by the wooden panelling of the barn. He still remembered the wild look in her eyes as she'd stood with her gun pointed, blood covering her arm and spattered across her shirt. Killian wouldn't deny that he'd seized up for a moment, caught by the idea that she might be seriously hurt. It was only after he'd inspected every inch of her that he assured himself she was fine – physically at least.

Killian walked further into the room and she met his gaze as he approached, any emotion sealed off. Her efforts to conceal her feelings were futile; he could still read her. He considered her carefully for a long moment but didn't dare reach out to touch her – he felt it was as though she were glass and cracks had just begun to appear at her base. Any sudden movements and she might shatter into a million pieces and then where would they be?

Emma eyes darted down to the floor and the silence began to bite uncomfortably at Killian's ears. It had been a long time since the two of them had been alone together, always surrounded by their teammates or the local police or someone. She'd been avoiding him for so long he forgot what it felt like to be in her sole presence. Killian was about to speak when she beat him to it, her eyes snapping intensely onto his in the dimly lit room.

"You blame me."

She said it more like a statement than a question, her sureness at her words echoing in the small room. But he didn't understand what she meant – blame her for what?

"What?" he replied, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Emma locked her eyes on to a spot just over his shoulder, no longer willing to meet his eyes.

"For Henry. You blame me."

He sighed in realization and wondered if Emma had expected him to jump at the chance to admonish her, tell her that it was her fault and that she should never have taken Henry instead of him.

Killian shook his head and took a step towards her, "I don't blame you, love."

She scoffed, the bark of laughter that escaped her mouth harsh and gravelly and not at all genuine.

"Don't lie to me, Jones."

Emma jumped when Killian took another step closer, silently demanding she look at him as he descended on her. His eyes drilled into her and her apathetic façade faltered under the blatant scrutiny. When he spoke, it demanded her full attention and she had no other choice but to listen closely to each honest syllable that was cast from his mouth and into the tense atmosphere of the room.

"I'm not… and you of all people should know that. None of us blame you, Swan – what happened was no one's fault," he said fervently, his urgency evidently surprising Emma.

Killian watched her hesitate a second before she clenched her fists, "How can you say that?" she asked incredulously, her voice rising a decibel. There was a pregnant pause and Emma ran a hand through her hair hurriedly, "If you'd come instead of him…" The sentence drifted off, the end of her comment lingering unfinished in the air. Killian raised an eyebrow, the words slicing at his chest as the implication of her observation registered in his mind. He kept his face impassive though, or so he hoped.

Finally he asked, "Would you have preferred it if I had been captured?"

Emma's eyes snapped onto his.

"No," she replied quickly, earnestly, "I just… things might have gone down differently if you'd come instead of him."

Her eyes dropped from his again and he felt his ice blue stare soften thoughtfully. There were bags under her eyes and he could still see the tell-tale wetness on her eyelashes that indicated tears. However hard she might have tried to hide it, he could see her weakness and it hurt him more than he would have cared to admit. Killian shrugged.

"You might be right but," he paused, his thoughts drifting elsewhere as he turned over in his head the true meaning of the words he would utter, "Emma, you can't live your life thinking about what-ifs… it'll destroy you."

Images of a dark-haired woman flashed mockingly behind his lids, her smile followed succinctly by the sound of her sob. He felt his eyes glaze over as a pensive look took hold of his face. His words were startlingly accurate in depicting the first year after _her_ death – when all he could think was that perhaps if he'd moved faster, done something differently, she might still be alive.

The word 'what' was such a terribly harmless word, but alongside the word 'if,' it could destroy you. Gnawing away at your head and heart in the dead of night like a flesh-eating virus. More images flashed in his mind's eye; waking up to an empty bed, contemplating death as salt water trickled down his cheeks and onto his pillow, turning a gun over in his hand and putting it away when his phone shrilled relentlessly. Killian shivered indiscernibly, trying to shake off the way his body went cold thinking about it.

As Killian's thoughts came back into focus he looked down to Emma. She was biting her lip and it looked as though she were attempting to keep it from trembling.

He watched as moisture pooled in her eyes and she took a shaky breath. Finally, she looked up to meet his gaze.

"Tell me he'll be okay," she whispered hoarsely, her voice broken and ragged with unspoken emotion. Killian's brow dropped marginally towards his eyes, a fleeting expression of mixed shock and apprehension drifting across his defined features. He was taken off guard by her flagrant vulnerability.

He watched as she took a small step closer to him, her eyes searching and desperate. He wanted to give her what she wanted; to tell her that Henry would be fine and they would look back on this one day and… maybe not laugh, but they would have the chance to reminisce. But such is life.

Killian shook his head softly, "I can't."

"Why not?" Emma responded instantaneously, her lip quivering dangerously.

His gaze delved into hers, burning holes in her skull as he sought something he couldn't quite place.

"Because I don't know. And I'm not going to lie to you," he paused and looked down briefly, shame knotting in his stomach, "Sorry."

He waited for her to get angry at him, certain that he would receive an onslaught of livid curses and perhaps a slap to the face. But she didn't. Instead, he heard her inhale sharply and looked up at the foreign sound.

Her eyes were tinged red and sparkling with moisture, her lip quivering.

"I… It's my fault... I – I –" she stuttered, losing the end of the sentence in a sharp gasp.

Killian grasped her arms firmly, lowering his head so their eyes were level. Her own gaze darted around on the floor, her mouth opening and closing as incoherent sentences and worries slipped out of her mouth.

"Emma," he said calmly and, when she didn't respond, he said it again slightly louder, "_Emma._"

Her blue-green eyes locked onto his and he held her gaze intensely for a second to ensure he had her full attention. When he was certain he did, he spoke.

"Emma, if there is one thing I know about you it's that you're determined and loyal to a fault. _You will get him back_. I have faith in that much."

Killian couldn't comment on what Henry's state would be when they found him because he didn't know what the kid had endured, nor did he know the young agent's level of tolerance. But his gut told him that they would get him back – more specifically, that _she_ would not rest until they got him back safe and sound. And either way, Henry was smart enough to know how to survive the situation (unless it risked the lives of their team, a fact that had been made glaringly obvious earlier).

She nodded, her lower lip retracting into her mouth as she chewed it roughly. He watched as her eyes welled with tears and he could imagine her internal irritation at showing what she would have perceived as weakness. A small tear blazed its way down her cheek and he reacted without thought. Killian pulled her towards him and wrapped his arms around her.

He felt her bury her face in his chest as he embraced her and nestled his head on top of hers comfortingly, drinking in the vanilla smell of her hair. Emma cried silently, her broken inhales and the wetness on his shirt the only signs that she was breaking down. Killian vaguely found himself appreciating how his nerves tingled with warmth at the feel of her body pressed against his – not because they were acting or sparring, but because he was consoling her.

The moment stretched for a long minute but eventually her breathing slowed and he pulled his arms back so his hands rested on her shoulders. As Emma drew away, she wiped hastily at her eyes – determined to eradicate any evidence that she'd shown vulnerability.

"I just… I felt like every time he looked at the camera, he was looking at _me_ and… I…" she stammered huskily, looking down.

Killian stiffened, "What did you say?"

Emma frowned and he could nearly see the walls being rebuilt, brick by brick, "I… are you okay?" she asked. He shook his head and let go of her, putting two fingers on each temple.

"Yes – what did you just say?" he repeated, closing his eyes.

There was a brief pause before she coughed and said in a detached voice, "I said I felt like every time he looked at the camera, he was looking at me –"

"Come with me."

Killian walked quickly from the room, grabbing Emma's wrist and pulling her along behind him. And surprisingly, she followed him without question or protest. He had to restrain himself from sprinting as he wove his way through the house to the room with the dozen computers where Ruby was sitting. She spun in her chair when they entered, red-stained lips opening to ask a question but he cut her off.

"Can you bring up the video of Henry again?" he asked.

Ruby's eyes flitted nervously between him and the blonde beside him. Killian turned to Emma who was giving him a strange look. He put a hand on her arm and met her eyes.

"Trust me," he pleaded, facing Ruby again and nodding for her to do it. The brunette spun around and tapped at the keyboard for a second, prompting the black screens to show the image of Henry in the dark unidentified room.

"Can you fast-forward to the part where Anthony told him we were watching?"

She dragged the timer of the feed at the bottom of the screen across until the desired section began to play.

"_The other heathens are watching,"_ Gabriel's voice spat through the speakers. On the screen, Killian watched as Henry's eyes looked up into the camera before dropping back to the floor as Gabriel walked around from the back of the chair to stand in front of the young agent.

"_Choose a person to die and I'll say the name and address of the person to be saved_."

The long pause was expected this time and Killian took the time to study Henry's expression. His eyes darted about on the floorboards, as though he were in a deep train of thought. When they stopped moving, he set his jaw and looked up at Gabriel. There was a clear undercurrent of fear to his movements but he didn't let it show too obviously. _Brave kid._

"_I won't choose who gets slaughtered and have you leave the remains behind like a poacher_," Henry said, glancing at the camera twice.

"Stop the video," Killian ordered. Ruby complied and he bit his lip in thought. He heard as Phillip and David entered the room behind him but he continued to mull over the words.

_Slaughter._

_Poacher._

Why would he phrase it that way? He could have simply said 'no,' but something about his deliverance was off. It was true that the kid had an extensive vernacular but there was something deliberate about the way he spoke and glanced at the camera, subtly pleading for them to accept his clue.

And something shifted into place.

"Ruby, look up any recent cases of poaching," Killian commanded.

Behind him, David spoke, "Jones, you alright?"

The agent turned to his superior, "Henry said that he wouldn't choose who gets slaughtered and have Anthony leave the remains behind like a _poacher_. I think he was trying to give us a message."

There was a sharp ding behind them and, as if on cue, Ruby spoke up, "A farmer reported two sheep being slaughtered on its property."

"Where?" Killian asked.

A map appeared on the screens and the tech analyst zoomed in on the area highlighted. It was a fairly isolated property with one road leading in and out of it. The grazing land spanned for a long distance and backed onto another smaller property. Killian felt Emma lean forward and peer down at the screen.

"What's that patch of green there?" she asked, pointing to a small highlighted section a short distance away from the property.

"Marshal Parish," Ruby answered.

Emma's eyes widened and she touched her chin, "Anthony wrote in his diary about staying clean and keeping away from _Marshall_." The brunette on the chair typed quickly and only a second later, a small section of text was emphasized on the screen. She turned in her chair to look up at the four adults.

"Guys… there's a cemetery on the grounds."

8888

There was a flurry of preparation before the team got in their black sedans and began speeding down the dirt road towards Marshal Parish. The very second that the two partners had informed David and Phillip of their findings, the group had grabbed frantically at weapons as they all but sprinted towards the cars. The Unit Chief had swiftly educated Officer Ford and the latter was summoning up all his man-power to the property. Thanks to Ruby, the uncomplicated directions to the abandoned plot of land were already installed in their phones, having been sent the second they connected the blatantly obvious dots.

They drove silently into the night, the black of their sedans all but invisible as they whizzed past the fields of green towards their destination. Killian kept his eyes on the road, hands clenched tightly around the wheel as he kept a solid 110 kilometres per hour. He glanced once at Emma, whose eyes were fixed firmly ahead of her, her hands clenched tight to the point of resembling bone.

There was little to no light on the uninhabited road, the moon their only other source of illumination. He had the headlights on full-beam, casting an intense white glow ahead of them so they could see the turns in the road.

He had refused to let her drive as they ran towards the sedan; he knew she would be too distracted to focus on keeping them upright on the road and the agent didn't want to end up bottom-up in a field before they could even reach Henry.

David and Phillip were in the car behind them, following their every turn.

Killian felt his muscles tense as they slowed to turn onto a road where a neglected sign announced that they had arrived at 'Marshal Parish.' He lifted his foot off the pedal marginally so their approach was at least somewhat subtle and turned off the high-beam. As he glimpsed his partner, he noted that she already had her hand on the door handle, her body tense like a spring ready to bound forth towards her goal the moment she was given the go-ahead. A small rundown shack came into view at the end of the road and he swiftly turned off his headlights.

The shack grew larger in the distance until eventually Killian pulled the car to a stop about fifty meters away. The breaks squeaked unobtrusively as the cars skidded lightly across the rocky surface and he could hear as David's sedan did the same.

The moment the car stopped traveling forward, Emma unlatched the door and jumped out, gun already out as she began to pad stealthily towards the house. It was as though she couldn't stop her trajectory; she had to be constantly in motion if she was to save the youngest member of their team.

Killian turned the sedan off and cursed under his breath at her refusal to wait for him, pulling out his own weapon and exiting the car just as nimbly. He had to jog to catch up to her, taking care to step on patches of ground that were untouched by crunched dead leaves and restrained the urge to pull her back. He heard David and Phillip as they got out of their car and followed the two agents towards the grey porch. There was a muted golden light peeking out through the boarded up windows, landing softly on the veranda that surrounded the perimeter of the shack.

His blood rushed loudly through his ears, the sound of anticipation deafening him to anything except his own pulse and quiet footfalls across the unkempt yard. They made their way up the portico stairs, careful to step lightly for fear of making noise at such a pivotal moment in this mission.

They were so close. He could feel Henry close by and judging by the way Emma's pace quickened, she could feel it to.

Emma sidled up to the closed door, Killian moving to stand on the other side. They leaned against the dirty wood and their eyes locked, blue-green to ice blue, a forced collision of mutual concern and diluted fear.

With a small nod, Killian kicked open the door and moved in, his eyes darting around the small room rapidly in search of some kind of figure. There was a camera perched on a tripod on the opposite side of the room, located in front of a desk that held four computer screens with four separate video feeds. There was a couple drinking red wine in one, a man whose expression indicated that what he was looking at was something akin to watching paint dry, a young woman who appeared to be in the middle of a video chat and the last video feed was empty. There was a turned over chair to his left and as he walked further into the empty room and turned to face Emma; he recognized the space as the backdrop of the video they had watched of Henry.

He could see in his mind's eye the exact spot where the young man had fallen and been succinctly revived. As his eyes drifted from the chair to Emma, he could see as she looked around the room desperately, searching for something that would lead them to Henry.

David and Phillip entered the room behind her, their guns already lowering since no noise had erupted.

One should never jinx those sort of things though.

There was a sudden and colossal bang that pierced the air and everyone in the room froze. _A gunshot._

Emma's wide eyes met Killian's and he was sure they reflected his expression exactly. The blonde spun around and sprinted from the room, and the other three agents followed her. As they entered the night again, the blackness still crowding every corner of the bushland surrounding them, there was the sound of muffled voices and shuffling feet to their right.

Emma was already running in that direction, her weapon raised and footsteps heavy. Killian followed rapidly; the fastest runner in their team. He was hot on Emma's heels as she dodged the roots of the trees and ducked under branches, using the sound of the voices as her leading tether. And Killian simply followed her, his eyes sporadically searching the area around them.

As they ran through the trees, cement headstones began to rise up out of the ground, becoming denser as they headed further into what was surely the cemetery of the plantation, the only sound that of their feet crunching over dead leaves and breaths coming in rapid succession. And then:

_BANG!_

Another gunshot broke the thick air and Emma's voice was suddenly ripping through the ensuing silence, "Henry! _Henry!_" she boomed into the night.

He'd never heard her tone so raw and scratched and he felt his gut twist painfully at the hysterical sound.

It seemed they had tossed any reserves out the window, so Killian unwittingly joined in her chorus of cries.

"Henry!" he bellowed loudly, overlapping her voice as she slowed down slightly.

There was a roar of fury this time, and it didn't belong to Henry. Both agents were immediately running towards the source of the voice, recognition bubbling up in a wave of impending emotion. Whether it would be relief or grief depended entirely on what sight awaited them as they headed towards the growing sounds of a struggle.

Emma and Killian burst into a small clearing to see Henry and Anthony in the center, a gun held in the air as both struggled for supremacy. The latter was losing out though, his strength already waned from the trauma of his capture. Emma rushed forward as Killian's eyes swept over the scene before him.

There was what appeared to be a hole in the ground, rectangular shaped and very shallow. There was a shovel lying haphazardly beside it, obviously having been carelessly tossed aside. Killian watched almost in slow motion as his partner rushed at the two struggling men, rugby-tackling the un-sub to the ground with an almost primal growl. Henry fell back into the dirt as Anthony was thrust away from him.

Killian moved immediately towards the young agent as Emma pushed the other man into the dirt, kneeling beside Henry and tucking away his gun. Henry's eyes met Killian's with unadulterated relief and he found it within himself to offer the agent a half-hearted smile. Killian would never comprehend how the kid was the way he was: and he would never fail to commend him for it either. However, the happy reunion was cut short when Henry's eyes drifted over the older agent's shoulder to something he found visibly disturbing.

"Emma, _stop_!"

Killian stood up and spun around, following Henry's gaze to where Emma was pounding her fists viciously into an already subdued Anthony. He made his way towards her immediately, swallowing the desire to leave her loose and grabbing her shoulders.

"Emma, stop," he said sternly, pulling her up and nearly falling over when she jerked herself out of his grip and continued to hit the man beneath her.

Her voice, raw and hissing, could just barely be heard between each grunt of effort it took to slam her fist down, "He was _innocent_, you bastard! You fucking bastard!"

Killian could feel her losing out fast and, gripping her shoulders tighter, pulled her roughly up and away. She tried to get past him but his grip was steady and unyielding.

"Let me go," she growled ravenously, her eyes alight with unmatched and unadulterated wrath. If she was a colour, she'd be a deep blood red. If she was an element, she'd be fire. If she was a weather event, she'd be a hurricane. Emma lunged again, hitting Killian's arm as he jutted it out to stop her and pull her back around.

"_Emma."_

And it was as if his voice snapped her out of it, the embers in her eyes dying out little by little until she looked around; at him, at the bruised and bloodied un-sub, at the concerned face of Henry. As her eyes finally landed on the young agent, her entire demeanour changed and Killian knew he could let her go safely, dropping his hands and watching as she strode across the leaf-strewn ground towards him.

As Emma reached the bruised and bloodied young man, she knelt beside him and instantly embraced him. Her delicate arms wrapped around him as she pressed her face into his shoulder and Henry returned the gesture automatically. He could see her shoulders shaking and was all but entirely sure she was crying, but he didn't say anything, he let her have the moment. Satisfied that her murderous tendencies were at least partially eradicated, Killian turned his attention to the barely moving figure opposite the happy reunion, hot fury simmering up inside as he looked upon the face of the man who he had watched beat Henry. He squatted beside Anthony, elbows on his knees as he looked over him.

He had more control than Emma – this he knew for a fact since he didn't immediately add to the splotches of red and purple littering the un-sub's exposed skin.

Killian's gaze held no pity, he felt nothing but loathing for the man whose breath came out in jarring catches. It was Henry who spoke up to demand they call for medical help, just as David and Phillip reached them. The two men sighed in relief and the former made his way towards Killian.

"He needs medical attention," Henry croaked again, coughing and trying weakly to stand up.

Emma helped him and followed the younger agent's gaze to Anthony's shaking body with a mask of indifference. Behind it though, Killian could see the clear undercurrent of seething hate that burned clear and bright. And even deeper than that, like the frayed edges of a painting, he could see unwilling understanding. Perhaps that was why she had lashed out at him so savagely – not only for Henry, but because he evoked an unwilling feeling of empathy at shared past. Nevertheless, to the untrained eye, it was impossible to tell that she had just been on the brink of killing the un-sub.

Phillip pulled out his phone and began to call for assistance and David's eyes raked over the beaten un-sub, the powder blue orbs briefly flickering to Emma whose arms were still wrapped tightly around Henry.

"What happened?" he asked sternly, looking directly at Killian.

He shrugged, his eyes glinting with unapologetic mirth, "I guess Henry got in a few good hits before we took him down."

Not that David would have persecuted her, but he certainly would have admonished her in person. And at least, in this light, it was unclear who delivered the beating. It was better that their superior think Killian did it – Emma didn't need to be called into question. She already had enough on her plate; even if he didn't know what it was that was on her plate exactly.

Killian nodded once at David and turned to approach Henry.

The young man's hands were covered in dirt and as Killian looked between him and the shallow pit, he realized what Anthony or Gabriel or whoever the fuck the un-sub was had tried to make him do. Digging your own grave was another level of cruel and he only imagined the type of scarring that was now burned into Henry's naïve mind.

And yet, the young man seemed to be holding up surprisingly well. Killian knew if he had the opportunity to hurt the un-sub, he would take it. But he wasn't compassionate like Henry, he considered himself a zealous and selfish man. Especially when it came to those who injured the ones he loved. He hadn't always been like that – but there are certain things that a man never truly recovers from. _So many layers_, a mocking voice whispered in his head, _if only someone cared enough to dissect them one-by-one._

Killian swallowed the self-loathing and put a hand on Henry's shoulder, meeting his gaze in the dim moonlit night.

"You okay, kid?" he asked, searching the soft hazel eyes for the truth.

Emma watched the exchange, her stare landing on Henry as well as he answered with a shrug.

"I will be."

And, though pained, it was the truth.

8888

Emma didn't let Henry out of her sight for the following 48 hours – even as the young man was treated for his injuries and given pain killers, even as he was told to give a statement and identify Mr Reed as the un-sub, even as they were all ushered onto the plane the next evening. Killian observed his partner closely and was relieved to see her returning to normal, even if he was sure she would never truly forget what had happened. Neither would Henry; but then, no one expected him to.

Ruby had all but jumped him when the brunette had finally seen him, her slender arms crushing his lean frame against hers as she grinned tearily from ear to ear and threatened him should he ever leave them. They had all received their chance to welcome back the young agent and Killian would never comprehend how Henry managed a watery smile at their meek attempts to joke. The poor kid would, as was his style, keep to himself about it – only speaking about it in the mandatory sessions with Katherine that David would certainly set up.

Killian only hoped that he wouldn't be haunted by it in his sleep.

He thought about this specifically as he observed the young agent at the end of the plane, eyes closed tight as he leaned unconsciously against the side of the plane. He'd fallen asleep an hour ago and no one dared raise their voice for fear of waking him.

Killian attempted to read but found himself far too enamoured by his own meticulous thoughts.

He recalled his own sleepless nights, when he'd woken in a cocoon of damp sheets, his breathing deep and heavy. Fists clenched into the quilts, he'd sat up in bed every night, jumping awake as the sound of her life being drained from her body echoed cruelly in his mind. Killian forced his mind to focus on the words of the book he was vainly attempting to read, he hated remembering those days.

"What are you reading?"

Emma's voice drew his gaze upwards and the crease in his brow immediately smoothed. He raised an eyebrow, his eyes glancing briefly at the sleeping Henry before landing back on her.

"The Book Thief," Killian replied "And I didn't think you'd be letting him out of your sight."

She shrugged, letting herself fall into the seat opposite him, "I can still _see_ him," she retorted dryly.

"Touché," he responded with a smirk, earmarking his page and closing the thick book.

She cocked her head to the side, giving him a strange look.

"David thinks you beat up Anthony," she said.

He shrugged, "I never alluded to anything – I told him Henry got in some –"

"I know you're covering for me," she cut him off, chewing her bottom lip for a long minute. There was silence between them as he attempted to process where she was headed with this topic of conversation. He wondered distantly if she was going to return to cutting him off.

"Thank you," she finally said. He nodded in reply and watched her carefully, dissecting what little he could see, what slivers of her persona that weren't heavily guarded by a wall of steel. It was as though she was waiting for him to ask her something, figuratively holding her breath in anticipation for the query she deemed he was certain to make. But he had nothing to ask and eventually she spoke up.

"Aren't you going to ask what came over me?"

Killian shook his head, "No. I'm not," he replied honestly.

Emma's brows drew together in a frown, "Why? I mean, I nearly beat that guy to death… I'm not usually the type to let my emotions control my actions."

A small, humourless smile tugged barely at the side of his lips, "This wasn't a _usual_ case. And," he paused briefly, "I understand why you did it."

"What?"

"I would explain but I'd rather not get in a fight right now," he elucidated, giving her a weary look that conveyed everything he wanted to say without speaking a word. She nodded once, a curt tilt of her head in understanding and acceptance. It was strange – how they could communicate so effortlessly through simple gestures and imperceptible subtext.

Emma let her head fall in her hand as she looked out the window. There were dark bags under her eyes and lines of fatigue in her pale face. She looked utterly exhausted.

"Why don't you get some sleep?" he asked softly, cocking his head to the side.

She shook her head lightly, "Can't sleep."

"And why's that?" he asked, expecting some witty retort that recommended he mind his own business. Instead, her eyes flickered to his and returned to the dark night outside the window.

"Because every time I close my eyes I think of Henry," she replied breathily.

Killian set the book down beside him and leant forward on the table separating them.

"He'll be alright, Emma. He's a strong kid," he said, catching her eyes earnestly. Emma sighed and smiled a tense unconvincing smile, her lips tight and strained across her face.

"I know, I know… I just… I hate to think what he went through – when we weren't watching."

He licked his lips, turning her words over and finding them oddly representative of his own sentiments.

"I understand," he replied, "but… love, you can't do anything more now. All we can do is support him and make sure he gets the help he needs." As his eyes scanned her face, he registered something that took him back to the front room of the Reed Ranch, to the moment she'd turned to face him and emotion ravaged her usually collected features. "You still feel guilty."

She didn't respond, but he saw by the way her eyes drifted down in shame that it was true.

Killian leaned back in his seat and ran a hand through his hair, "Emma, there's nothing you can do to change what happened – and there was nothing you could have done to stop it from happening in the first place."

She met his stare full on, the blue-green irises sparking with intense discomfiture.

"I shouldn't have taken him instead of you. I shouldn't have…"

Her words drifted off and she turned away again. Killian resisted the urge to prompt her to continue, knowing by the way her jaw shifted that she was closing off the momentary lapse in control. She'd been on the verge of revealing something to him, teetering dangerously on the edge without even knowing it. But she'd pulled herself back, leaving him to simply take what he could get.

Killian shrugged, "We've been through this, Emma."

"I know," she murmured quietly.

"And does it help _at all_ to know that none of us blame you?"

Emma was silent for a long moment and he considered that she might not have heard his question. But then, she turned to him with a miniscule smile, only really a subtle tilt of her lips.

"Yeah."

8888

The familiar sound of keyboards being abused was like music to Killian's ears as he walked into the BAU precinct, laptop bag swung lazily over one shoulder. He made his way immediately to his work station, pulling out his computer and sitting in the office chair with a loud sigh. He liked his desk.

He hated paperwork.

The thought made him frown as he opened the computer in front of him and prepared to write out a report on their latest case. He internally winced just thinking about the fact that he would have to report on Henry, who was absent for the rest of the week due to his traumatic experience. Whether the agent would actually follow the orders of his superiors was another question – Killian had the distinct impression that Henry was a fidgeter and therapy for him would consist of burying himself in work.

Nevertheless, he was nowhere to be seen thus far – but it was only the morning.

He began typing up the document, detailing everything he could remember of their case until his attention drifted elsewhere, caught on something in his peripheral vision. He looked over his shoulder to where Emma had just entered, her gym bag swung over her shoulder. Her hair was tied back in a loose pony tail, some damp strands of hair stuck to her face from the shower she'd surely taken after working out. She walked towards their desks, nodding a greeting at Killian as she dropped her bag at her desk.

"Morning Swan," he said swivelling his chair around to face her.

She tightened her pony tail and fell back into her own black desk chair, "Morning."

"Have fun in the gym?" he asked, giving her an appreciative once-over. Emma rolled her eyes and gave him an unamused look.

"Yes, I had a fabulous time beating up Fred."

Killian raised a speculative eyebrow, "Who's Fred?"

She smirked, "Jealous?"

Her questions prompted him to chuckle and shake his head as he shrugged, "Not in the slightest – just wondering who the poor soul is that suffered your wrath this morning." Emma narrowed her eyes ever-so-slightly, sneering at him before turning around in her chair to face her own computer. She opened it up as she answered.

"Fred's the training dummy," she said indifferently.

Killian frowned, "You _named_ the dummy?"

He saw her shoulders bob up and down in a shrug, "No one else had."

"Swan, that's because it's an inanimate object."

"And now it's an inanimate object with a name."

"Why does it need a name?"

"Because I thought I should get to know my new fighting partner," she retorted with the slightest hint of snark, throwing a look over her shoulder at him. Both of his eyebrows ascended to his hairline as he stared at her back. She was referring to the fact that he had texted her earlier that morning informing her he would not be attending their combat session.

He figured that, since she was apparently back to normal, their routine would proceed once again as normal. And, as per usual, they would skirt the awkward confrontation about what exactly _had_ been going on for the past two weeks. Killian wouldn't deny he was madly curious to know what had prompted her to shut him out, but he knew Emma and he knew that things like this weren't brought to light right away, not just when things were starting to repair themselves. _Later_, he told himself, _you'll ask what happened and maybe she'll tell you. _For now, though, they would tread lightly.

"Oh, love, my apologies for my absence – I was otherwise detained."

She scoffed, "Yeah, and what might have had you _otherwise detained_?" she said derisively, mimicking his accent poorly.

"Sleep," he replied simply.

Emma spun around in her chair, "Are you saying you ditched me this morning to sleep?"

He could have easily pointed out her actions earlier that week but he chose not to – no need to start a fight when he'd only just penned his name in her good books. Killian gave her a guilty smile and raised his hands.

"What can I say? I was buggered."

She shook her head and was about to turn around when Sidney, Regina's receptionist, made his way to the two agents. He fixed his eyes on Emma as he approached and leaned on the cubicle wall as he spoke.

"Regina wants to see the both of you," he said, looking at Killian as well.

Emma and Killian shared a look, silently asking the other if they knew what the Section Chief could possibly want from them. Having determined that neither knew any more than the other, they both looked to Sidney again.

"Did she say why?" Killian asked with a frown. It was unusual for the Section Chief to call on either of them for anything – not only did she usually use David as the middle man to deliver orders but the two women did _not_ get along. That much was blatantly obvious to anyone with a semblance of observation skills.

Sidney shrugged, "No. She just wants to see you both."

He waited for the two agents to stand up and when they did, he led them up the small flight of stairs to the raised level that outlined the perimeter of the office, to Regina's office. He knocked three times before opening the large mahogany door and the woman's stern voice instructed they could enter. Sidney nodded once at Emma and Killian as they walked into the office and stood side-by-side in front of the dark wooden desk.

Regina's indifferent façade was resolute even as her eyes glanced up at the two agents. She had a pen in her hand and was signing along the dotted line of some form. Killian looked at Emma from his peripheral vision and noted the way she eyed the brunette, with impatience and indignation. He looked back to Regina just as she clicked the pen closed and placed it in the small cup of utensils on her desk.

Finally, she looked up and leaned back in her chair, dark hair sweeping back from her face to reveal a sharp and beautiful face, stern calculating eyes and dark red lips.

"I presume you're wondering why I summoned you," she said eloquently, looking between them both.

"Not in the slightest – this does, after all, happen all the time," Emma retorted sarcastically, the hostility between the two women tinting the air. Killian bit his lip and shot his partner a reprimanding look that she ignored, her face portraying nothing but boredom.

But Regina didn't flinch, she smiled harshly, "I wouldn't be so imprudent if I were you, Ms Swan. After all, I haven't called you in here to give you a gold star."

"I'm shattered," Emma countered flippantly.

Killian just shook his head imperceptibly and kept his eyes on the name plaque on the desk until he realized what the woman had said.

"Wait – are we in trouble?" he asked.

Regina brought her hands together in front of her, "Not in trouble per say – I'm just giving you a warning."

"Excuse me?" Emma said incredulously, raising her eyebrows.

"Oh don't act so surprised – you," Regina said, nodding at Killian, "used excessive force on a suspect. The only reason you're not impounded is because I can write it off as self-defense." Emma looked between Killian and the Section Chief and opened her mouth to speak and he knew she was about to claim responsibility for her actions. He cut her off before she had the chance, giving her a meaningful glance as he spoke.

"So David told you, did he?" he asked without antagonism.

He could feel Emma's glare but was happy to hear her silence, an indication of her reluctant acceptance.

Regina watched him carefully, "Only because the officers in Florida informed me about Mr Reeds condition when he was brought into custody. If it weren't for that, I'd say Mr Nolan would have covered your ass in a heartbeat. And as for you," she turned her stare on Emma, and there was a tangible undercurrent of hostility there, so potent Killian felt something akin to anger simmer unexpectedly in his chest. Emma held her superior's unrelenting gaze with ease, quite used to locking horns with the woman.

"I'd like to know what happened at the Reed Ranch because I can't think of a situation where Henry could possibly have been abducted without some foolishness on your part," she said, the acid in her tone unhidden.

Regina had always been weirdly protective of Henry; perhaps it was because she had hand picked him from the training squads, overlooking his obvious lack of physical skills with the claim his intelligence and mental capacity compensated for it in abundance.

She was always warmer towards him, her smiles genuine when she sent them his way.

Regina didn't have children – a husband, yes, but children, no. Killian had never asked why; but he had a strange feeling that it wasn't by choice. The way she handled young ones when she actually came into contact with them was always tender and unexpectedly knowing.

He saw Emma's fists clench as she replied in a stony voice, "I guess you'll have to read it on my report."

"I look forward to it and, in the future, consider your actions more carefully," Regina near-hissed. Killian watched as Emma nodded stoically, her knuckles bone-white and jaw set.

"Is that all?" she asked in a voice that sounded unlike her own.

Regina nodded and instantaneously Emma pivoted on her heel and strode from the room. Killian watched her leave the room and turned back to his superior, who had started signing papers once again. She spared him an uninterested glance, "I'll be expecting your report too, but you are also excused."

She continued her ministrations, oblivious to his presence for a long moment.

Anger bubbled up in his chest at the notion that the section chief dared to place blame on Emma – that she would encourage the already dangerous emotions festering inside his partner's head. He had personal experience and he knew, firsthand, just how much the blonde would already be beating herself up about it. She may have put on a light-hearted facade but he could see that beneath the banter was a woman still dealing with what she'd seen the week before.

He felt the need to admonish the woman before him, to point his finger and growl unscrupulous things. He felt_ defensive_.

But as she continued her work, ignoring his presence entirely, his gaze landed momentarily on the plaque on her desk. _Section Chief, Regina Mills._

She was his superior, his _boss_.

Fucking hierarchy. Fucking need for employment. Fuck.

So, with more finesse than he thought he had, Killian Jones took one small step forward and levelled the woman with a reproachful look.

"She already feels bad enough about what happened," he said, catching her eyes and holding them evenly, "without you making her feel worse about it." Regina continued to hold his gaze, her hand held aloft above the paper as she paused. It was Killian who turned around, breaking their eye contact first and striding out of the room – closing the door firmly as he left (refraining the urge to slam it shut).

He walked calmly back to his desk, catching Emma's eyes on him as he moved through the office. A look he couldn't quite place stirred in the blue-green depths as they dissected him before shifting back down to her own computer.

* * *

**Okay *heavy sigh* so I didn't _kill_ anyone. There was some maiming, but no death.**

**And get your final votes in for the dress Emma will wear _next chapter_! (options under the tag 'Emma Swan Dress Vote' on tumblr)**

**Reviews are... I can't think of anything creative but I survive on feedback so please?**


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